


Sunspot

by misha906 (BoopPhysics)



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Worm - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:55:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoopPhysics/pseuds/misha906
Summary: A young woman triggers in the wake of an Endbringer attack.  Her home is destroyed, her only surviving family is her sister, and now she rebuilds her life as a Ward in the city of Boston





	1. 1.1

_ The screaming was the worst part.   _

 

_ Not the buildings being torn apart like wet tissue paper, not the distant roar of thunder and lightning ripping across the sky, not even the forty-five foot tall abomination tearing through the city step by solemn step.   _

 

_ It was the screaming.  The screaming and the burning sensation in my lungs. _

 

_ I had long past given up any hope of reaching a destination, I just knew that every single step that managed to touch the ground ensured I was another step  _ away _ from the hellscape behind me.  I spared a glance behind me, making sure my sister was keeping up.  Her head and shoulders were covered in soot, her breath was labored and short, and a pool of crimson coated the front of her tattered top.  But at least she was alive. I slowed, reaching an arm out to steady her when a high pitched whistling filled the air _

 

_ A streak of black rocketed from the sky and slammed into the monstrosity, forcing it to the ground, while a bright green glow behind her channeled a beam of energy into Behemoth’s eye.   _

_ The heroes were fighting back.   _

 

_ I tore my head away.  This was one cape fight I had hoped to never see.  I set my sights forward and forced my legs to move again. _

 

_ An ear-shattering roar erupted from the fight behind us, causing me to turn my head back reflexively.  The Endbringer had gotten back on its feet, a _ _ nd its head now swiveled towards the desolate street where I froze.  Its singular red eye sought me out and it took a step towards me- _

 

I shot up, straining against my seatbelt and began to writ he and yell-

 

_ Oh my fucking god it’s looking at me oh fuck what do I do shitshitshitshitshitfuckshit- _

 

A hand placed itself on my shoulder and I struggled to tear myself away from it.  I had to get away, had to run, survive and-

 

“Ev?  Ev. Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.  Stay with me, Ev. Come on, stay with me.”  

 

_ Dad? _

 

“Ev.  Come on, honey, it’s okay.  Wake up, it’s just a dream. It won’t hurt you.  It can't hurt you. Come on Ev, you're okay.”

 

_ No, not Dad.  Polly _ .

 

The hand was now lightly brushing my shoulder, helping draw me out of the nightmare.  I opened my eyes, finding the familiar face of my sister instead of the bright red eye of my nightmares.  I slowly lowered my arms and took stock, panting from the exertion. A familiar grey car interior greeted me, and the lack of light outside the window informed me it was well into the night.  A glance at the clock on the dashboard confirmed it. 12:50 AM. With a sigh I slumped back down onto the grey felt seat.

 

“Sorry.” I muttered.

 

“It’s okay, was just a dream.”  my sister responded, “At least it’s not as often now, yeah?”

 

I nodded, “Yeah, not as often.”

 

That was a lie.  We both knew it. Neither of us acknowledged it.  

 

Polly gave me a weak smile and handed me a bottle of water, which I gratefully accepted and quickly drank half of.  Satisfied that I wasn’t going to accidentally throw myself out the vehicle, she pulled the truck back onto the highway to resume our journey.  In this dead of night, there were no other cars on the road. Just the quiet chirping of crickets and the rickety thrum of the rusted engine. We must be between cities if neither the radio nor WiFi wasn’t working.  I looked at the glowing screen of Polly’s phone mounted onto the dashboard. Apparently we were somewhere in Ohio.

 

Huh.  Based on my estimates we should’ve only just hit Illinois today.

 

...Unless...

 

“Did you sleep?”  I asked Polly. She flinched, not visibly, but enough that I saw it.  Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel harder.

 

“A little.”  She lied. I glared at her.  It wasn’t a good lie, she took too long of a pause, bit her lip, and didn’t even look me in the eye.  She must be exhausted to not even try.

 

“You should sleep.  Let’s find a motel, or let me drive.”  I said. Polly shook her head.

 

“No, you already drove four hours today, and we’ve hit states that’ll be sticklers about you not having a permit.”  She said.

 

“Okay, then let’s find a motel, or we can pull over to the side and turn the car off and get you some sleep so we don’t go into a ditch in the middle of nowhere Ohio.”  I replied. Polly shook her head again.

 

“I’m still good, got coffee at the last gas station.  Oh, there’s some jerky and juice in the back if you want it.”  She jerked a thumb to the back, but I didn’t let the promise of food and drink distract me.

 

“Polly, you need sleep.  You can’t keep going like this.”  I said.

 

“I’m...I’m fine, we’re only an hour out from Pittsburgh.  We can bunk at their PRT building when we stop there for a day or two, and then the next stop is New York, and at that point we’re basically in Boston anyways, and then hopefully I’ll never drive this truck anywhere ever again.  Except maybe to a dump. It’ll be fine, Ev.” Polly finished her rambling with her Mom voice.

 

Well.  That was the end of that conversation then.

 

I turned my head back onto the road and let out a frustrated grunt.

 

“Okay.  Fine. Whatever.”  And closed my eyes again.

 

Thankfully the next time I was jostled awake was by the truck stopping and not whatever fever nightmares my brain decided to cook up.  I looked up blearily, rubbing sleep from my eyes and took in our surroundings. We were in a parking lot somewhere. There was the distant rumble of car engines and the sounding of horns.  We were probably in Pittsburgh.

 

“We’re here.”  Polly confirmed for me.  I looked at the clock. 6:47 AM.  Ah. She did listen to me.

 

“Nice nap?”  Polly asked.

 

“Probably about the same as yours.”  I said. Polly winced in understanding, then shouldered her backpack and grabbed her suitcase from underneath the driver’s seat.  We trudged towards a dingy looking elevator at the edge of the parking lot. This had to be one of those secret PRT lots, it’d explain the lack of cars, yet the clean floors and walls, all lit by bright light strips.  The one that Polly had shown me back in Phoenix was exactly the same. We stepped into the elevator, the doors closing so quietly I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking at them. A small whir informed me when it began to move.  Tinkertech. Gotta love it.

 

“So you’ll probably be coming with me to a guest room instead of bunking with the local Wards, to cut down on the number of forms we need to sign and hoops to jump through.”  Polly started, shifting into PRT squad leader mode now that we were once again ensconced within civilization. Her back straightened, eyes looking hard and focused despite the bags underneath, and her arms were locked straight as though she would be told to march at any second.  

 

I nodded.  Made sense.  Wasn’t like I was going to stay in this city anyways, and I wasn’t dying to meet any of them.  Could I even recognize any of the capes in Pittsburgh by sight? 

 

“We’ll probably spend a day and some change here, the local Director knows about us, and I made a call right before we got into the city, so they’ll be ready for us.  We’ll leave after a shower and a nap. The final leg’s going to be six hours to New York and another four to five to Boston.” She continued. I continued nodding.

 

“Okay.  I’ll entertain myself while you do your super secret spook stuff.”  I said. 

 

Polly frowned, her composure faltering, “I don’t do super secret spook stuff.”

 

“Every single city with a PRT office we’ve stopped in, you’ve taken your briefcase, changed into a suit, and then had a talk with the local Director in their office with the door locked.  That sounds like super secret spook stuff to me.” I replied.

 

“It’s just an after-action report.  The Chief-Director wanted it to be eyes-only.”  Polly replied.

 

“That still sounds like super secret spook stuff to me.  They can’t just email it?”

 

“M/S protocols level 5.  Hard copies only. Also stop saying super secret spook stuff.”

 

“So long as you’re admitting what you’re doing is super secret spook stuff.”

 

Polly huffed, but there was a small smile on her face.  A win in my book, “Fine, fine, I’m doing super secret spook stuff.  Now stop saying it. Is there anything you want to get while we’re here?”

 

I shrugged, “I’ll take a walk later, see if anything catches my eye.”

 

Polly nodded, “Alright.  Make sure your phone is on though.”

 

I slipped the sleek, black, PRT issued smartphone out my sweatpants.  Apparently it was waterproof, untraceable, and had a security feature that scanned incoming calls and could filter out unknown numbers, along with everything a regular smartphone provided.  I thumbed the button on the side and it lit up. 63% battery. That’d last at least 8 hours of continuous use, according to the manual. I showed my sister the screen and she nodded her approval.  

 

“I’ll leave you my credit card when we get to the room then.  If you see any sudoku books, pick one up for me?” She asked. 

 

“Okay.”  I answered, sliding the phone back into a pocket.  The elevator door dinged open, and the two of us stepped into the Pittsburgh PRT headquarters.  A pair of troopers greeted us with a pair of PRT IDs. Must’ve been a rush job; they weren’t even laminated.  I took mine and clipped it to my pants while Polly clipped it to her shirt. We were quickly escorted separate directions, me to an empty guest room, and her to do her super secret spook stuff.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

My initial impression of Pittsburgh was that it seemed like a colder, busier Tucson.  Then I remembered that the therapist back in Nashville suggested I stopped comparing everything to that burned up husk of a hellhole to “move past the trauma and pain”, so I guess it was just a colder, as busy Phoenix.  Which was just a larger and busier Tucson. Damn. Failed that exercise. 

 

I tugged the grey PRT hoodie closer against my body as another gust of wind picked up, shivering.  Polly said Boston would be even colder, something that I doubted. Nothing could compare to the night we spent snowed in in Washington DC, but according to the internet, it was true, Boston right now was a nice balmy twenty seven degrees, compared to Tucson’s...what temperature did plasma burn at?  Compared to whatever number that is, I guess. 

 

I took another sip of the hot chocolate in my hands.  It didn’t really help with warming me up, but the last cup I had was somewhere back in Illinois, and I refused out of principle to buy any kind of hot chocolate from roadside gas stations.  This one was from an honest-to-god chocolatier, meaning they probably melted real chocolate into it or something. None of that powdered crap that tastes like water downed sugar in a cup. 

 

I drummed my fingers on table, wondering what to do now.  It never occurred to me that traveling could be so boring.  I sighed and looked across the street, hoping for something interesting to catch my eye so I could have an excuse to kill some more time before I headed back to the PRT building.  Sadly there was nothing, just businessmen and women walking to and from the plethora of office buildings around me, the odd teenager bundled up in jackets and scarves trudging through the street, three costumed individuals walking out from an alleyway, a hotdog vendor on his-

 

Wait.

 

My head snapped back to the alleyway.  Three men walked forward into the street, without a care in the world, dressed in matching black and blue bodysuits.  The distinguishing features between them were the numbers 1, 2, and 3 printed across their chests. 

 

_ This was not what I meant by something interesting. _

 

I felt heat begin to coil in my core as my power reacted, wanting to flare up and protect me.  I slammed it down hard. 

 

_ No, not here _ .

 

These were either capes or groupies getting ready for a cape convention, which would be just as bad.  I began to gather my stuff, which thankfully was only a small bag with a book and a jacket inside, and my paper cup of hot chocolate.  I quickly took both things in hand and took off away from costumed men.

 

I’d barely gotten ten feet down the street before an explosion sounded behind me, pitching me forward.  Thankfully I caught myself and didn’t end up sprawled onto the ground. Then a chunk of masonry crashed into the concrete next to me, causing me to jump, scream, and drop all my things anyway.  My arms lashed out reflexively and a blast of flames erupted from my fingers in a panic, striking the offending debris. People around me started screaming louder.

 

_ Shit! _

 

I took off at a dead sprint, bags forgotten behind me.  The familiar hum of my power now arcing and threading through my arms.  Wisps of smoke began to waft off my hands, and I saw sparks dancing between my fingers.  I clamped down hard on my power, trying to calm myself down. I couldn’t afford to accidentally burn down another city, this one didn’t even have an Endbringer attacking it for crying out loud.  I also did  _ not  _ want to out myself in an unfamiliar city, the proverbial can of worms that was my power was already precarious enough without throwing my secret identity into the mix.  I slipped into an empty space between two buildings and fished out my phone, hitting the panic button and emergency contact as hard as I could. 

 

“C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up.”  I muttered, trying not to hyperventilate.  I snuck a glance around the building; people were running every which way, with all the blind panic of civilians not knowing what to do in the event of a cape fight.  A few more booms sounded in the distance, causing me to flinch again. 

 

Thankfully, whatever secret meeting Polly had, it was over, because she picked up.

 

“Ev?  What’s wrong, why’d you hit the panic button?  Where are you?” Polly demanded once the call went through.  I let out a breath of relief.

 

“Oh thank god, some cape fight started near me.  On...sixth avenue?” I whispered, looking around for a street sign, “Three guys, dunno their powers though, I’m hunkered down between two office buildings half a block down.”

 

Polly swore.  Then I heard her talking to someone in the background.

 

“Okay.  Okay, stay calm, Ev, okay?  PRT squads are enroute right now.  Don’t try to fight the villains. One of the vans will pick you up and bring you back, just stay calm and on the phone, okay?”

 

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me.

 

“Yeah, okay.  Okay. How long?”  I asked.

 

_ Please say soon _

 

“Soon.”  Polly said, letting me sigh in relief, “Squads were already gearing up, I’ll just tell an trooper or two to take a short detour for you, okay?”

 

“Okay.”  I confirmed.  

 

The fight had ramped up since I took refuge, a few brightly colored costumes were now flitting back and forth on the street while the occasional Tinkertech weapon sounded off, powers and weaponry alike rang through the street.  I stayed bunched up, making myself as small as possible, still desperately trying not to let my power slip and burn everything around me.

 

_ Breathe in...hold...breathe out... _

 

The heat slowly inched back from the tips of my fingers and unwound itself from my core, slowly dissipating, and I let out a breath of relief.  

 

A screech of tires at the end of the alley caught my attention.  It turned out Polly rerouted an entire squad and van, and now a full squad of PRT troopers were approaching.  Thankfully there were no words exchanged between any of us, I was just herded away quietly and in minutes I was strapped in and the van was speeding along. 

 

When I got back to the PRT building I instantly went to the room they prepared for us and hastily took a shower, body trembling.  The ice cold water began to evaporate as soon as it hit my still warm skin, flooding the tiny bathroom with steam in minutes. I stood underneath it for a long while, cooling myself down.  As I towelled myself dry and flopped onto the bed, Polly walked in, asking me if I wanted to talk about what happened and if I was feeling up for a debrief with the PRT.

 

I didn’t and I wasn’t.

\--


	2. 1.2

I thought a road trip from Arizona all the way to the east coast would help me acclimate to bigger cities and colder weather, but New York still astounded me, both in size and in temperature.

 

The city was absolutely massive, concrete and glass seemed to stretch far beyond the horizon, twisting every which way into the sky.  The streets were thronged with people of all ages and skin tone, carrying an assortment of briefcases, donuts, umbrellas, and coffee. Yells, car horns and engines were the common auditory fare even at this early hour.  

 

We didn’t park the truck in a PRT garage this time, because there was absolutely no way they could’ve hid one in the mass of people and buildings.  So instead we drove right up to the PRT building and they waved us into an underground garage, in plain sight of everyone.

 

“Aren’t they afraid that people will be able to see and track cars that come and go from here?  I mean, they’re all PRT employees, right?” I asked Polly. She raised an eyebrow at me.

 

“Do you really think the average New Yorker pays attention to the cars that come and go?  You saw how many cars were out there.” She said. 

 

“But all it takes is just one person to sit outside with a camera and a notepad and find out where PRT agents live.”  I responded.

 

“Yeah, and if they do anything with that information then Legend will come down on them like a proverbial fist of God.  The unwritten rules might not be for the unpowered, but it doesn’t mean us normals can’t benefit from a few of them.” Polly said with a smile and a wink.  She put the brake on and turned off the truck, “C’mon, let’s go.”

 

My initial reaction to the inside of the New York PRT building was,  _ wow this is fancy _ .  Marble, glass, and shining steel was the norm here, and everything seemed to be kept spotlessly clean.  The elevator let us off in the middle of the building this time and we made our way to the Director’s office, flanked by the usual two troopers in their armor and gear.  

 

Polly had asked me to wait outside, promising that since this was the last PRT office we were visiting, she would try to cut her meeting with the local Director short and we would go out for a bit of Mom’s patented Family Time after.  I watched as she walked into the office after Director Wilkins, briefcase in hand, and decided to take a seat in the secretary’s office and mess around on my phone. 

 

After failing my third game of Tetris, I heard the door open, drawing my attention and dropping my jaw in the same moment.  

 

Legend.   _ The _ Legend, with a capital “T” and everything, walked into the room, in all his tall, lean, brown haired, and skintight blue costumed glory.  I gaped, my brain completely shut down.

 

_ Could I ask for an autograph? _

 

He waved to the secretary and then gave me a smile and held out his hand.

 

“Hi there, you must be Eveline.  I’m Legend.” He said. I felt my heart stop and my eyes widen as my body froze.  It took my brain a minute to reboot, and then I awkwardly held out my hand for him to shake.

 

“Hi!  Um. Yeah, that’s me.  Eveline. You’re, uh, Legend.  That’s you. But you know that already.  Wait, you know my name?” I spluttered.

 

_ Oh my god why does he know my name. _

 

He smiled again, the corners of his mouth raising in a kind and gentle curve.  A kind of smile that was genuine and sweet and looked like it belonged in a Hallmark commercial.  I wondered if he practiced it in front of a mirror every morning.

 

“Hard to forget the young woman who helped save thousands of lives against Behemoth in Arizona.” He said.  I winced, my excitement evaporating. Of course. He knew my name because I was a walking calamity and the poster child for collateral damage.

 

“I didn’t help anything.”  I mumbled, dropping my hand, “The city’s condemned because of me.”

Legend frowned at that.

 

“That is simply untrue, Eveline.  The city was destroyed because of an Endbringer.  And as much as I wish they would simply disappear and never threaten the world again, they are a sad fact of the world we live in.” He said, not unkindly, “The lives you saved that day are literally priceless,  _ they _ can never be replaced.  Cities, however, can be rebuilt with time and effort.   _ This _ city is a testament to that fact.”

 

“Yeah, but nobody’s rebuilding Tucson, not after I turned it into a pile of ash.” I muttered.  Images of burnt buildings, torn roads, and general mass destruction filled my mind. 

 

_ I helped do so much of that. _

 

Legend gave me a smile again, except this time it looked a little sad.  He seemed like the kind of guy to have a smile for every occasion.

 

“It’s a sacrifice we make sometimes, that’s part of the job as heroes.  You think I haven’t knocked down a building or two in all my years? But let’s shelve the depressing talk for now.  How was your trip through the states? Not a lot of trouble, I hope.” He asked. I froze again.

 

_ Am I dreaming?  What's going on?  Why is  _ Legend _ making small talk with me?! _

 

“Buh-wha?” Was all I managed to get out before the Director’s door opened and interrupted us.

 

Thankfully I wasn’t the only person that was completely taken aback at the presence of the  _ leader of the Protectorate and one of the most famous capes in the world _ standing there.  Polly took one glance and completely froze up as well, her eyes widening and jaw dropping in shock much like mine had earlier.  It was refreshing to see her usually practiced stern and passive face slip up like that. 

 

“Ah, and you must be Pauline, hello.” Legend said, walking forward and offering his hand to Polly to shake.  She grasped it limply, still staring in open-mouthed shock. 

 

“Uhm...uh-hi.  Sir.” It was also mildly gratifying to see that her greeting was on par with mine.  That is, completely unprofessional and stunted. Director Wilkins chuckled from behind Polly, who instantly blushed and schooled herself to attention and shook Legend’s hand.

 

“Hello, sir.  Pauline Everton, PRT Intelligence analyst.  A pleasure to meet you.” Polly tried again, the spitting image of respect and decorum.  Legend smiled again, gosh he did a lot of that, and tilted his head in a small nod.

 

_ Wait, that isn’t fair, she got a redo! _

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Fifteen minutes later, after a short and embarrassing conversation, we were both in our room for the night.  I was clutching a brand new signed poster of Legend in my hands while Polly was delicately running her hand over a similarly signed, laminated, postcard.

 

We both agreed on never telling anyone how awkward it was to ask for both of them.  

 

“Okay.” Polly said, finally putting the postcard in her purse and pivoting to look at me, “You ready for  _ the _ shopping trip of our lives?”  

 

“I don't know about  _ the _ shopping trip of our lives.  Unless you're trying to tell me that this is the  _ last  _ shopping trip of our lives too.”  I deadpanned. Polly stuck her tongue out at me.

 

“Don’t be depressing and get dressed Ev.  We’re going out and spending at least three zeroes worth of my next paycheck, most likely on an absurd amount of clothes, makeup, and whatever else we want to.  Then we're going to find a stupidly overpriced restaurant in this congested city for dinner, and then tomorrow we’re going to drive a dilapidated truck into Boston and you're going to become a superhero.  Come on.” Polly grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the bed. I felt myself smiling at her infections enthusiasm. 

 

A while later, I was no longer smiling at any conceivable form of enthusiasm.  In fact, a trained psychologist might study me and come to the conclusion that I was not smiling nor enthused at all, probably inferring it from my frowning face and crossed arms.  

 

“No.”  I said, “I’m not wearing that, I don’t care that you’re paying for it.”

 

“Why not?!  It’s a slim fit, and the color sets off nicely against your skin, you can wear it to parties and dates.”  Polly was currently waving a small white cocktail dress around, a tiny piece of frilly fabric suspended by two thin straps.  It looked like it  _ might _ reach the middle of my thighs if I put it on.

 

“Because I’m not a hooker, Polly.  And I don’t like the white, too flamboyant.”  That wasn’t true, back home my wardrobe had epitomized the word, with bright primary colors and daring cuts.  Now? I wasn’t sure if I liked that. It was begging for danger, drawing attention to myself like that.

 

“Liar.  You love the bright, shiny, and frilly.” Polly retorted, but thankfully hanging the dress up and looking for a different one.  Another few minutes of browsing between us brought up several more dresses, a few pairs of jeans, and a fuzzy forest green cardigan with brown stitched reindeers that I instantly dropped in the ‘yes’ pile.  

 

“I swear your tastes aged thirty years in the last few weeks.” Polly commented.

 

“Shut up, at least I don’t try to pretend I’m a teenager with short skirts and tops.” I quipped back.

 

“I’m sorry I like to feel pretty, sister.”

 

“It’s not pretty when all you’re showing off is wrinkles, old lady.”

 

“Ouch.  Shot down by my own sister.  Have you no soul?”

 

We had been at this for almost two hours, and I’ll admit that it brightened my spirits considerably since Pittsburgh.  It was something that approached normal again, the two of us shopping and squabbling over each other’s selections. Back home, it would’ve been a family activity, or as Mom would call it, ‘Family Time’, the nebulous concept that demanded we do something, anything as a family.  It would even be marked in calendars, capitalization and all. And Family Time could have been anything ranging from a barbeque in the backyard to a weekend vacation to Canada. So long as the entire family participated and at least one photo was taken of us as a group to verify the Family Time’s authenticity, it counted.  

 

God, when was the last time we did that?  Was it the dinner in Phoenix? Mini-golf? When was the very last time our entire family took time for ourselves, before a walking abomination turned half of us into a pile of ash?  I couldn’t remember.

 

“Hey, you okay?”  Polly asked softly, leaning towards me and cupping my cheek.  I realized that my eyes were wet.

 

“Sorry.”  I mumbled, wiping the offending tears away, “Just...this.”  I gestured to the large department store around us, “The shopping and the bitching and the everything.  Reminded me of home. Of Mom and Dad.”

 

Polly pursed her lips and quickly pulled me into a tight hug.

 

“Wanna talk about it?”  She asked.

 

I shook my head.  God no, not in a department store of all places.

 

“I’m fine, it just caught me off guard, I guess.”  I said.

 

Polly didn’t release me from the hug for a long while, drawing me tighter and gently rocking us back and forth despite the attention we were drawing from other shoppers.  When she let go, my eyes were puffy and red, but thankfully dry. She picked up the pile of clothes we’d chosen and went to the cashier to pay. 

 

Dinner was subdued.  Quiet. I was poking and prodding at my pasta dish for several minutes, still in mild disbelief at how much everything here cost.  

 

“Stop playing with your food.” Polly reprimanded me while taking a drink.  It was something fruity and alcoholic, and had a big sprig of mint on the rim.  

 

“This plate of food is fifty five dollars, I should be allowed to wear it as a hat if I want to.”  I said, still spinning my fork through the perfect yellow noodles and the thin white sauce, just taking in the sight of it.  Polly laughed.

 

“Welcome to New York, sis.  And this place isn’t even the priciest joint around, don’t let the lights and the nice seats fool you.”  She said, raising her glass, “But hey, we’ve got the money to spend right now, so let’s live it up.”

 

“Should we be spending like this though?”  I asked, “The Endbringer relief payments weren’t  _ that _ much.”

 

“The money we got from the relief fund is going to an apartment for the both of us.”  Polly explained, twirling her own fork, “This is from my bank account and part of your signing bonus.”

 

_ Wait, what? _

 

“Wait, what?  Signing bonus?  What signing bonus?” I asked.  Polly snorted.

 

“Ev, you’re a hero.  You have a very strong and versatile power.  More than that, you landed a noticeable hit on an  _ Endbringer _ .   People were mailing us blank checks days after the attack just to get you on board.  I got the PRT involved when I finally got stitched up.” She explained.

 

Oh.  

 

Well then.  

 

I suppose I should be flattered that my ability to slag asphalt and concrete into unrecognizable primordial slime was worth something to someone.  Several someones with a lot of money to boot, according to my sister. A terrible thought hit me right then, and I dropped my fork onto the table, meal forgotten.

 

“Wait, so people were gonna pay me to move to their cities?  What, were they auctioning me off or something? Is that why we’re going to Boston?  Because they-they  _ paid _ for me?! Wh-what the fuck kind of-”

 

_ They’re paying money for it?  For my power? For this stupid piece of- _

 

Polly winced at my increasing volume and dropped her utensils, quickly reaching for my hand.

 

“Oh, honey, no, no, of course not.”  Polly looked for my eyes while rubbing a thumb along the back of my hand to calm me down.  She didn’t continue until she found my eyes, the dark brown orbs looking into mine, “Boston wasn't even one of the cities that asked for you.  We’re going there because I did some research and found that it’s one of the calmest cape cities in the country, I thought it’d be good for the both of us.  Somewhere calm and relaxing, you know? Low octane. Quiet. You get a nice environment to train and learn to control your powers, I get a quiet desk to jockey.  God knows we both deserve something like that.”

 

Oh.  That made a lot of sense, actually.

 

“Oh.  Uhm. That’s-that’s good, I guess.”  I deflated, embarrassed at my previous indignation. 

 

“What, you thought I auctioned you off or something?  ‘We’ll go to whoever pays us the most’?” Polly gave a small chuckle.

 

“Um.  Kinda?” I answered hesitantly.  Polly stopped moving for a second, clutching my hands tighter.  She looked horrified.

 

“Eveline, I would  _ never _ do something like that.  You’re my  _ sister _ .” She said.  I shrugged and picked up my fork, ashamed and needing to get off this very awkward topic now.  I took a bite of the pasta in front of me.

 

Polly gave a strangled laugh and let go of my hand as my eyes widened and I instantly took another before I even swallowed the first bite.  And another. And another after that. I finished my dinner at a pace that probably would have set a world record and violated almost every conceivable form of meal etiquette.

 

In my defense, it was a really good plate of carbonara, so good I didn’t even protest when Polly gleefully snapped a picture of me stuffing my face.

 

“So.”  My sister asked as we walked out onto the busy street and began to hail a cab, “Was that worth it, or was it worth it?”

 

I sighed blissfully and clutched a small brown bag closer to my chest.

 

“I want to marry this cheesecake and have little cheesecakes babies with it.”  I moaned.

 

“Ew, keep your weird fantasies to yourself.”  Polly said with a laugh. She managed to hail one of the seemingly thousands of yellow and black vehicles that flitted around New York.  When it came to a stop at the curb, she opened the door and ushered me in, slipping in behind.

 

“PRT building, please.”  She said. The driver nodded behind the metal bars separating us from the front and pushed the meter on.  We trundled along, flitting past the city lights and various cars on the roads. At some point I leaned in to my sister’s side, looking up at her and smiling.  She smiled back and pulled out her phone, turning the camera to us.

 

“Hey.” She said, “Family Time picture, come on.”

 

“It won’t be the same without Mom and Dad.”  I whispered, my face dropping. Polly bit her lip.

 

“But we’re still gonna take one.  We have to. Carry on the tradition.  Come on.” She said quietly. I looked up at the camera and tried my best to smile.  There was a flash, illuminating the back of the cab. She turned her phone over to let me see.  Both of us wore a small smile, me with my eyes slightly squinted, and her with her nose scrunched up due to the camera flash.  Our brown hair also got in the way, covering parts of our faces. The end result was that we looked mildly bewildered and confused.

 

“We look ridiculous.”  I said softly. Polly nodded and didn’t respond, instead tapping her phone and saving the picture to her email, labelling it “New York City”.  We stopped talking until we reached the PRT building and trudged up to our temporary quarters. After Polly double checked our luggage to make sure everything was packed and ready for tomorrow, we fell into bed.

 

“Polly?”  I asked, after she turned off the lights and the room plunged into darkness.

 

“Mm?”  She asked back.

 

“Thank you.  For everything.”

 

“Mm.”


	3. 1.3

Boston apparently did not understand what sensible steer layouts were. 

 

Most cities me and Polly visited, navigation was easy; the places usually used a grid pattern, so you could count exactly how many blocks you went a certain way and backtrack in the same relative direction.

 

Boston was a big conglomerated mess of winding roads, weird dead-end streets, and even the odd _ cobblestone _ path, and the end result was that we were currently sitting in a dead end alley without a clue as to where we were.

 

“Why didn’t you just use the GPS?”

 

“No!  I need to figure out how to get to and from places on my own, I’m not going to use a GPS every time I take a foot out the door.”

 

“Polly we’ve been to this dead end street before, I recognize this building.”

 

“Shut up, I got this!”

 

I sighed and thumped my head against the window while Polly continued to attempt to find out where we were on a paper map.  A large brick apartment building stood in front of us. It looked a little run down, the stones blackened and paint faded. Apparently in a city like this, that only increased its value.  Something about preserving history and stuff. To me it looked like a tax scam.

 

A knock on the window caused both of us to jump.  A portly woman dressed in a flower print dress was looking at us sternly, gesturing for us to roll down the window.  

 

“Both of you know this is considered a private street, yes?”  She asked sternly as soon as the window was lowered, her deep voice was hard, and she looked at us like we were up to no good.  

 

Oh great, now we were going to get the police called on us.  Could they arrest a Ward? I wasn't  _ officially _ one yet, but it's the thought that counts, right?

 

“Ah, actually, we didn’t ma’am, sorry.  We’re new in the city, just moved here recently and we’re trying to find our way to an…” Polly looked down at the address she scribbled on the map, “Upton Street?”

 

The woman continued to give us the stink-eye, but gestured to the direction we came from.

 

“Upton’s just two streets down, you can’t miss it, it’s the only one that’s still cobble.”  She said. 

 

“Perfect, thank you ma’am.”  Polly smiled at her. 

 

She continued to stare at us and didn't smile back.  

 

The window went back up, and we left.

 

“She was kinda rude.”  I observed. Polly gave a noncommittal grunt.

 

We eventually found the street our new apartment was on thanks to the lady’s directions, apparently both of us missed the very visible street sign at the end of the road.  We had no time to really explore it other than to take in the layout and basic furniture that had been moved in ahead of time, which amounted to a couch, a coffee table, two beds, along with a mishmash of dressers and small cabinets.  The kitchenette had a clear view of the living room, and a short hallway to the side showed two bedrooms and a bathroom at its end.

 

“Wow look at all these cool IKEA products, okay, let’s go now.”  Polly said, ushering me out the door the instant both our suitcases hit the ground so that we could make it to the PRT building in time for our appointment.

 

This time Polly used the GPS.

 

The Boston PRT building was pretty, all of it blue glass and dark steel, an obelisk of color and shine amongst the concrete urban jungle.  We managed to find parking on the street and walked in. No secret tunnel or elevator this time, just a PRT intelligence analyst bringing her sister in to show her around the workplace, nothing to see here everybody.  

 

Director Armstrong was nice.  He had one of those dad faces, bearded, genial, kind, and a genuine smile that lit up his face.  It it weren’t for the fact that he towered over me with broad shoulders and a muscled body that showed even beneath his suit, I never would have pegged him for a PRT Director.  He sat down with me and Polly and discussed a few things about my new life as a Ward while I worked my way through a mountain of paperwork. Nothing too important, mostly little tidbits about my schooling situation, how Wards schedules work, and how to access specific parts of the building if needed.  

 

Polly left after a short greeting to do her own pile of paperwork, leaving me to scribble and listen to the Director by myself.  

 

“Ah, paperwork, where would I be without you.  Probably a lot happier with less wrinkles. Now, to wrap up the official stuff.”  He said, voice deep and gravelly, as I handed him the last signed piece of paper, “Three last things, your power testing results, your public reveal, and meeting your new team.”

 

“Umm, I already went through all the power testing stuff in Houston, sir.”  I did  _ not _ want to go through that four hour experience again.  Once was more than enough, I knew exactly how strong my power could get, and exactly how it can easily grow out of control.  

 

“I was talking about the results, not readministering the testing.”  Director Armstrong explained, pulling up a file on his computer and angling the screen so I could see it better.  The report was a jumbled mess, pictures of me, pictures of the dummies they had me hit, pictures of Tucson after Behemoth, boxes upon boxes of conjecture and analysis, and even some redacted portions.  

 

Wait.  Redacted?  Why would they redact-

 

Before I could ask about it, Director Armstrong turned the screen back towards him and began talking again, apparently satisfied that I'd seen whatever it was he wanted me to,

 

“You’ll have this talk when you go to PR as well, but I just wanted you to be prepared.  Did they tell you the full results back in Houston?”

 

I nodded, “Yeah, they pegged me as a Blaster 7, with a Striker subrating?”

 

Director Armstrong nodded, “Yes, when they submitted this report to us, our PR department decided that revealing the full lengths of your powers and your capabilities would be damaging to image, despite your contribution in the Tucson fight.  We’re asking you to limit your powers to only using parts of it, they suggested a pyrokinetic Blaster, and I agreed, but of course this is open to discussion before your public reveal.”

 

_ Oh thank god _ .

 

“Yeah!  That’s fine, just fire is fine.  It’s what I’m the most comfortable with anyways.”  I said hurriedly. I had been worried that the PRT would force me to utilize the same level of force that I used back home, but in retrospect that was pretty dumb.  Not every city needed to be burned down completely, willingly or otherwise. Still, anything that prevented me from using the more...destructive parts of my power was definitely welcome.  

 

Though…

 

“Are you sure they don’t want me to just use electricity instead?  I can do electricity, I mean, that’s useful for taking down villains and stuff, right?  Like a taser? And I probably won’t accidentally set things on fire if I do.” 

 

The Director mulled it over for a few moments, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.  

 

“Maybe, you’ll need to bring it up with PR, they already have an entire folder of names and costumes dedicated to the fire aspect, so they might be a bit stubborn about it.  But if they accept, I’ll sign off on it. Now, for your public reveal, do you think you’ll be acclimated to Boston by next week?”

 

A week?  Could I get used to a brand new place to live in a week?  I really had no clue. Would I get in trouble for asking for more time?  Would they give me more time?

 

“Um...I’m actually not sure?  I mean, I guess I can do it, nothing’s really stopping me.”

 

_ Or just not even ask.  Good going, brain! _

 

“Good!”  Armstrong said, smiling and clapping his hands together, “Well, I think you’ve listened to an old man blather on long enough, do you have any other concerns before you meet with the rest of the Wards?”

 

I shook my head.  I had looked up the Boston Wards back in New York, it made sense considering I was joining them.  It felt skeevy, though, like I was spying. They didn’t know anything about me, yet I’d read everything that was available online about them.  They were surprisingly small for a Ward team in a major city, comprising of only seven members. Their leader, or I guess it was my leader now as well, was Palindrome, a versatile Trump that could “reverse” or outright nullify powers near her.  At least that was what the PHO Wiki said; there weren’t any videos or pictures to show it. The rest of her team going by ages were Weld, Cacophony, Heavyset, Remedial, Reynard, and Hunch. Out of all of them, I only knew of Remedial and Cacophony by reputation.  Remedial was a Tinker who specialized in medical equipment, which instantly skyrocketed her reputation online when that and some of her tech was revealed to the world at large. Conversely, Cacophony had a reputation on PHO as being “Shatterbird-lite”, an unfortunate reputation borne from her powerful sonic powers and a particularly bad piece of press the media dubbed the “Boston University Bridge Incident”, though details on that were very sparse.  I could sympathize, though, my own power was similarly destructive and hard to control, and she didn’t have the lucky excuse of an Endbringer to to pin for her collateral damage.

 

As I began to run through a mental list of all the Wards and their powers, a knock at the door interrupted my musings and a head poked its way in.  It was a girl, with short, chin length blonde hair in a bob, and light brown eyes. Her face was covered by a stylized surgeon’s mask, white with red trim, and a red Caduceus staff in the center.  She was dressed in a long white lab coat with what looked like a dark grey suit underneath. I recognized her as Remedial, the Boston Wards’ resident Tinker and medic. 

 

“You asked for me, Director?”  She asked. Her voice was high pitched and soft, almost lilting.  She looked at me quizzically. Weird, did they not know they were getting a new team member?

 

“Yes, Remedial, thank you for your quick response.  This is a new team member, prospective codename, Sunspot.  She just finished up all the paperwork and I was wondering if you could take her down to the Wards’ quarters and meet the rest of the team, give her a tour so that she can begin acclimating.”  Director Armstrong responded. 

 

Remedial stared at me and blinked.

 

“Oh, of course sir…”  She paused, ”Um. Sir-sir she’s not wearing a mask, I shouldn’t have-”  She started to step backwards and made to close the door. I took that as my cue and stood up.

 

“Hi.  My name’s Eveline.  Eveline Everton. Nice to meet you.”  I stuck out my hand for her to shake. Remedial looked at it like my hand was an alien.  Then something seemed to click in her head, and she removed her mask.

 

“Hi, I’m Caroline.  Caroline Trent.” She said, shaking my hand.  She looked a little pensive at unmasking to me, and after letting go of my hand she instantly pulled the mask back over her face and turned to leave the office.  

 

_ Did I do something wrong? _

 

We took the elevator at the end of the hallway, the two of us trying not to stare at each other awkwardly the whole way down.  Did I offend her somehow by not being masked? Did she have a thing for masks? Capes were supposed to have weird neuroses, right?

 

“Did I say something wrong?  Back in the Director’s office?”  I asked. 

 

Might as well be direct about it.

 

Remedial gave me a blank look, “What?”

 

“You looked like you wanted to leave the room when the Director told you I was joining the Wards."

 

“What?  No I didn’t.” The confusion continued.  So did the blank look.

 

“You did!  Did I do something wrong?  I mean, I don’t think I  _ said  _ anything?  Is it my clothes?  Do I smell? I’ve been travelling a lot, and I haven’t taken a shower yet today, so I’m sorry if-” 

 

“No!  No, it wasn’t that, nothing like that.  It’s just that...I thought I recognized you.  Uh. Do you go to O’Bryant?” Remedial asked.

 

“...No?  I just got to Boston a few hours ago, I’m from Arizona.”

 

“Arizo-oh!  That’s why you look so familiar!  You’re her! The girl who blew out Behemoth’s leg!”

 

I winced, any potential worry about an information disparity between me and the Wards gone.  Of  _ course _ they knew about me, half the damn city probably did.  Especially since PHO was talking about me and the last Endbringer attack, hell, some of the Wards here probably even participated in the fight.  

 

Was that how people saw me?  The girl who blew out Behemoth’s leg?  I remembered myself more as “the girl who turned a city into ash and dust and probably killed a lot of people”.

 

Before I could respond, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a hallway with a set of double doors at the end.  Above the doors was a large red light, and to the side was a fingerprint and retina scanner. Remedial placed her thumb on the scanner while simultaneously leaning forward to let it scan her eye.  The red light turned on and a buzzer sounded.

 

“That’s to let everyone know there’s a visitor coming, give them time to mask up.”  Remedial explained, turning to me, looking a lot more relaxed now that she figured out the case of my familiarity.  She tilted her head and stared. Oh no,  _ did _ I have something on my face?  Her eyes narrowed in what looked like a frown, “Shit!  Forgot to get you a mask. Fuck. Um. Wait, let’s go back up the elevator and-”

 

The doors slid open, revealing a tall, grey-skinned, and  _ very _ muscled boy with silver eyes in a basketball jersey and a pair of sweatpants.  He also gave me a weird look, either at my lack of a mask or Remedial’s voice getting progressively louder and more shrill as she panicked, I didn’t know.

 

“Dammit!  Weld, close your eyes!  Eveline, we need to head back up and-” Remedial grabbed my hand and attempted to pull me back towards the elevator as Weld burst into laughter at the situation.

 

“Hey!  I’m serious!  Unmasked cape here!  We need to go find her a-a bag or  _ something _ .”  Remedial insisted.

 

“What?  You think I look ugly enough that I need a bag?”  I said without thinking. The visible part of Remedial’s face lit up a bright red and Weld howled with laughter again.  I haven’t even heard him speak a word yet and I already liked him.

 

“No!  That’s not-that’s not it at all!  It’s just that you’re unmasked and standard policy is that you need one ‘cause otherwise that means we’re violating the unwritten rules and-”

 

Before she could finish, Weld stepped forward and pulled us both into the Wards’ quarters, eliciting a cry of surprise from me and a squawk of indignation from Remedial.  

 

“Okay, let’s get you guys inside before the door closes by itself, wouldn’t want you to wait another minute standing out there with just Caroline, nobody deserves that.”  Weld chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh along while Remedial crossed her arms and gave me a glare.

 

“Don’t make fun of me, your secret identity is serious!”  She hissed.

 

“Well if you’re saying it’s serious, then whatever it is must be not serious at all.  Also, why’s the lot of you standing like a bunch of idiots at the door?” Another girl’s voice drawled from behind me.  I turned to see a curvy young woman dressed in a gold and green bodysuit with a brown bomber jacket over it. A pair of arrows pointing in opposite directions were on the lapels.  Her silver visor was flipped up, showing a half-Asian girl with blue eyes and straight black hair.

 

“Yo.  You must be the newbie.  Name’s Palindrome, but you can call me Angie.  Or ma’am if you're feeling particularly respectful, not that anybody around here is any sort of respectful.”  She said enthusiastically, offering me a hand to shake.

 

“Nice to meet you.”  I responded, taking the proffered hand.  She gave me a bright smile and turned towards a hallway across the large circular room, cupping a hand around her mouth.

 

“Hey, Hunch!  Come out to meet the new girl, and grab Caleb too, I know he’s skulking in his room about his test!  Caleb! Newbie! Get!” She called down a dimly lit hall with a series of doors. There was some mild thumping, and one of the doors opened, admitting a short boy with a hunched back.  His head was almost to the middle of his chest, and he looked at me cautiously, twisting his gnarled fingers together. He shuffled forward and extended a thin, bony hand. I took it hesitantly.

 

“Hi.”  He said quietly.  Holy crap, he was  _ young _ .  Like, definitely a preteen and isn’t even approaching puberty yet young, if the voice was anything to go by, unless it was different for Case 53s?  “I’m Hunch, both cape name and legal one.”

 

“Hello, Hunch.  I’m Eveline.” I said, shaking his hand delicately, “I think PR has a few names for me, but I haven’t been to see them to confirm yet.  The one Director Armstrong gave me for today was Sunspot, looking forward to working with you.”

 

“Ooh, Sunspot?  That’s a pretty name.”  Angie said, taking control of the conversation again by grabbing my arm and dragging me towards a large couch set up against one of the walls of the large open common area.  It was a large room, with vaulted ceilings and some movable dividers set up all over. I noticed a kitchenette in the corner, with a pile of dirty dishes and cups in the sink.  A bank of monitors was facing us directly, maps and blinking dots flitted to and fro on a large map of Boston. A few others had scrolling feeds of police band transcripts, news, and even Twitter and PHO in a corner.  Two different keyboards and a headset laid untouched on the large desk.

 

Weld and Hunch followed while Remedial disappeared into the hallway that Hunch emerged from.  Angie turned to me excitedly, “So, whaddya do? Blaster? Shaker? C’mon, I’m not getting too much from my power here.”

 

She began to punctuate every word with pokes at my side.

 

“Um...uh…” I tried to get a word in, but was distracted by the increasingly insistent poking at my side.  Thankfully, Weld came to my rescue yet again.

 

“Woah, Angie, calm down.  You’re going to scare her off like that, let her catch her breath first..”  He said, putting a hand between us. Angie continued to jab at his metal hand, seemingly oblivious.

 

“But I’m curious now!  I’m not getting  _ anything _ from my power.”  She said. 

 

“Your power?  I thought you were some sort of power nullification Trump, not a Thinker.”  I said, “That’s what the Wiki said anyways.”

 

“Pfft, what does the Wiki know.  C’mon, show me yours and I’ll show you mine, they didn’t tell us  _ anything _ .  We didn’t even know you were coming today.  Otherwise I would’ve bought a cake.” She said, shrugging.

 

Shit.

 

I couldn’t demonstrate my power in here.  What if I lost control? I’d end up liquefying the building!  It’s not like I couldn’t, I  _ knew _ I could, I’ve  _ done  _ it before.  Would they be okay with me not showing them?  Would they ask me to leave if I refused? What do I do?

 

“Um, I don’t think showing my power in here is a good idea.”  I said slowly, “It’s kinda…”  _ Destructive?  Explosive? Easy to accidentally misuse?  All of the above? _ “...Flashy.”

 

Angie’s mouth twisted into an awkward half smile and she tilted her head, “What’s wrong with that?  Flashy’s cool. Not many of us here are flashy. Except Heather and Weld. But Heather's a bitch so she doesn't count and Weld’s more shiny than flashy?”

 

She began to rub at Weld’s shoulder as if to shine it, causing him to roll his eyes.

 

“It’s not just flashy, it’s also...kinda dangerous to do it in close range.  I’ll just explain it. I can take in electromagnetic and heat energy within a certain range of myself, and redirect it in blasts, back in Houston we found out I could do mostly fire and plasma, and sometimes electricity if I focused enough.  I think PR only wants me to use the fire part as a Ward though.” I said quietly.

 

Angie fell silent, so did Weld and Hunch.  

 

_ Great first impression, jackass.  Now they’re terrified of you, way to make new friends after you burned all your last ones to death, you- _

 

“Seriously?  That’s...amazing.”  Angie said. I looked up.  She looked...excited? Her eyes were wide and she was looking at me quite intensely.  Huh?

 

“Yeah, she’s the Endcapper.”  Remedial said as she walked back into the large central room, a sullen looking boy trailing after her.  He was slouched, boredom plastered on his face. Bulky was certainly a word to describe him, his torso was wider than Weld’s, and his arms were crossed over a purple-black suit.  A similarly colored cap was wrapped around the top of his head and a pair of tinted goggles hid his eyes, effectively sealing off every inch of skin on his body. He stopped moving when he heard the word “Endcapper”.

 

“No shit.  Really?” Angie looked positively giddy as she stared at me now, “Oh, I guess I can kinda see if, if I tilt my head juuuust a little that way.  Now you have to show us! Come on!” She jumped up and began making grabby motions at me.

 

“Wait, wait, timeout, Endcapper?  What does that even mean?” I asked.

 

“How have you been on PHO and not seen the Endcapper discussions?  It’s all over the boards that talk about Endbringers! You’re her! The cape who amputated Behemoth!  Shot out his friggin’ kneecap!” Angie exclaimed. 

 

Well that certainly explained my ignorance on the topic.

 

“I, uh, I don’t like reading about the Endbringers.” I said softly.  

 

Everyone quieted down at that and I shrunk into myself.

 

_ Damn, now I just feel bad. _

 

“I think what Angie meant to say, is that she’s very excited about a new member of our team, and that she will endeavor in the future to not bring up the world-wide natural disasters again in front of someone who lost their home to them.”  Surprisingly it was Hunch who spoke and looked pointedly at Angie. She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck ruefully.

 

“Sorry, sorry, me and my big mouth.  Blame my dad. But still! That’s awesome!  Newbie’s a powerhouse!” She didn’t sound apologetic at all, still all smiles and excitement, “Okay, newbie, let’s go, come on, I wanna see the power that took out Behemoth’s leg.  Please? Pretty please?” She pleaded with me, batting her eyelashes and pouting.

 

“I seriously shouldn’t.  I mean it, I don’t have that great control yet, I could hurt you guys.”  I said.

 

“Nah, not while I’m here.”  Angie stood up, “If I think you’re going to lose control, I’ll use my power and negate yours, okay?”

 

“Angie, wait-” Hunch tried to speak up, but she waved him down.

 

“It’ll be fine, promise.  Put some trust in your deal old leader.”  She huffed. She spread her hands while all the other Wards took a step back.  They were hesitant, but also curious at the same time. Remedial poked her head out from behind the couch and raised a fire extinguisher above her head, angling it towards me.  I didn’t know if that was meant to be a joke or not. 

 

“Alright, newbie, let’s see it!  Show us a fireball!” Angie called, spreading her arms.

 

_ Oh no. _


	4. 1.4

I sat there, wringing my hands as the Wards looked at me expectantly.  Was this a thing? Showing off powers? I guess it made sense. Not everyone had powers that was only used for wanton destruction and mayhem, so it would make sense to see what each other was capable of.   _My_ powers though...

 

“Really shouldn’t, I can’t control it that well.” I mumbled, hoping that _someone_ would help me out.  

 

“Meh, we’ve all patrolled with Heather at some point and we’re all still alive, I doubt it can get any worse.” Angie continued to make grabby motions with her hands from where she stood, as if she could drag me out of the couch by sheer force of will.

 

_I really don’t want to do this.  This isn’t a good idea._

 

I stood up awkwardly, shuffling to the center of the room, where Angie was still bouncing around excitedly.  At her insistent grin and waving hands, I conceded.

 

Just a little demonstration wouldn’t hurt, right?

 

“Um.  Okay, here goes, I guess.” I muttered, raising my hands and calling on my power.  The familiar heat within my stomach flared up, eager to be used. I could feel it slither out from my core, radiating into my extremities.  It coiled around my fingers, trying to push its way out, and this time I let it.

 

A thin red flame coiled around my hand, spinning and pulsating.  It swirled and flared as I began to push on the feeling, feeding more of my reserves into my hand.  Everyone leaned forward as I messed around with the flames in my hand, having it blossom and curl in different patterns, almost like a dance show.  The more power I pulled from my core the more I felt it fill my hand with all of its warmth and power and having it erupt from my entire body and _burn and_ -

 

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit_

 

I lost control and the flames burned a deep blue as it roared from my hand, spilling into the room around me in superheated plasma.  Thankfully, Palindrome seemed to be on the ball and reached forward with her hands. I could feel her power retaliate against mine as she activated it, trying to wrestle the control away.  My body fought it, though, and the glob of swelling heat, instead of disappearing like it was supposed to, spun out from my hand and began to fill the room.

 

I clamped down.  Hard. Harder than I ever had before.  I curled in on myself and pressed the bright, burning palm to my stomach, trying to force the fire back in.  I couldn’t let this happen, I couldn’t afford to _hurt_ any more people, I needed to have it _stop._

 

_Please, stop!_

 

Whatever it was Palindrome did, it certainly helped.  I felt more and more of my flames being pulled out of my control, freeing up my mind.  It made it easier to pull the heat back, all of it, sucking it back into myself so I can _stop_ this and not _burn_ everything again, dammit!  I closed my eyes, trying to put the images of burnt buildings and melted roads out of my head.

 

Slowly I felt the heat retreat, the plasma and flames condensed themselves around my body and suffused back into it.  It felt like an eternity. I kept shoving it, hard as I could, forcing it down and down into my stomach, letting the heat on my hands and fingers slowly fade away.

 

The cold was sudden, shocking me into awareness as the last trace of my power faded away and was pushed down into my core, a splash of water and the taste of chemicals brought me out of the fugue.  Remedial stood in front of me, eyes wide in shock, fire extinguisher nozzle pointed in my face and slowly dripping foam. Palindrome was laying on the floor next to her, catching her breath. The other Wards seemed to have taken refuge behind the couch, which was remarkably untouched.  The bank of monitors I’d seen when I first walked in, however, seemed to be latest victim of my wayward power.

 

All the screens were shattered, half of them melted into blackened ooze.  The tall tower that was its electronics now resembled a Dali painting after a particularly bad acid trip.  

 

_Oh good, I can add “sensitive government electronics” to my list of things I’ve destroyed._

 

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, this just happens sometimes, I’ll fix it, I’ll-”

 

“Wow, she hasn’t even done console duty yet, and she’s already blown the thing up.”  The mystery Ward who was led in by Remedial earlier whistled from behind the couch. A laugh came from everyone else, relieving the tension, and Remedial dropped the extinguisher she was carrying with a sigh of relief and offered me a hand.  When I didn’t take it, she leaned down and grabbed me, pulling me up with a surprising amount of strength despite her size. Angie walked over and flopped an arm over my shoulders.

 

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot better.” She said cheerfully.  How could she be so relaxed about this? I almost just cooked everyone alive in here.

 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just go.  Sorry about this. All of this.” I muttered, pulling myself out of her arm and making my way to the doors.  They slid open before I reached them, a band of PRT troopers and two capes pouring in. One of them was decked out in black blue, paneled armor, with a cape flowing from his shoulders.  A helmet sat atop his head, covering his eyes but revealing his mouth and chin. That would be Bastion, leader of the local Protectorate, I recognized him from a short news article that circulated PHO about him a few weeks back, apparently he single handedly arrested a dozen small time villains in one day.  Next to him was a statuesque blonde woman with a silver costume and gold highlights. The troopers spread out in a semicircle, foam sprayers armed and waiting. Probably for me to have a quite literal meltdown again.

 

“‘Lo boss.” Angie gave a wave from behind me.  

 

“Palindrome.” Bastion did not sound happy, his voice angry and harsh and making me wish I could hide behind the couch like the other Wards, instead I just ducked my head and tried to hug myself, “The fire alarm was tripped.”

 

Angie nodded, “Certainly was boss.”

 

There was a pregnant pause.

 

“Would you like to explain what happened?” Bastion said slowly.  

 

Well, time to face the music.  I opened my mouth to speak, but Angie walked up and put a hand over it, interrupting me.

 

“Just a little workplace accident, boss.  It happens.” She said cheerfully. I gave her a questioning look, to which she responded with a wide grin.  Bastion glared at her and looked over at the still smoldering pile of electronics in the room.

 

“The console station is melted.” He said.  Angie pretended to do a double take as she looked in the same direction.

 

“Well, boss, it sure looks like it.” She said.  Bastion growled while the woman beside him sighed.

 

“Okay, Bastion, the situation regarding the console can wait, first and foremost, are any of you hurt?” She spoke now, walking up to me taking my hand, inspecting the drying fire extinguisher foam.  I shook my head.

 

_Why is she checking on me?  She should be making sure the other Wards are okay, not the idiot who almost burned the building down._

 

“Not at all, GL, except Sunspot here, she might be a little chemical-y.  Have you met her? She’s great. Blew off Behemoth’s kneecap. Say hi, Sunspot.” Angie continued in her chipper tone.  She grabbed my hand and waved it at the woman. I stood there dumbfounded.

 

Two hours later, after a shower, a new set of clothes (most of it with Palindrome’s likeness on it), and a lot more stammered apologies from me to the Director, a PRT technician, and the Wards, I was whisked away home by Polly.  

 

“And then they chucked me into the shower and brought me a new set of clothes.  When I got back out, most of the console had been removed and the Wards had gone off to do their own things.  I talked to the Director about how I messed up and then went to find you.” I said, poking at a plate of Chinese takeout.  Polly was sitting next to me on our new couch, feet up on the small coffee table in front of us. The TV was on, but it was muted.  We were treated to a man and a woman yelling at each other in a bedroom. Apparently the sixth season of Real Cape Lives.

 

“It was weird.” I finished, taking a small bite of the fried rice.  It was somehow greasy and dry at the same time and sat uncomfortably in my throat when I tried to swallow it.  Polly shrugged.

 

“At least nobody was hurt, that’s the important thing.  Also, your team leader shouldn’t be egging you on like that.  I’m going to have to have a talk with Armstrong tomorrow about that.”

 

“Can you do that?  He’s your boss. Isn’t that, like, asking to get fired?” I asked, forgoing the fried rice and taking a bite out of the barbecue pork.  It was far too sweet and got stuck between my teeth when I chewed.

 

“I’m also your legal guardian, it’s my job to make sure you feel safe and secure as a Ward.  What happened today was reckless on your leader’s part.” Polly said while taking a swig of beer.  How had she managed to buy alcohol and not get groceries? “Me working for the PRT has no bearing on anything.”

 

“It’s okay, I’m over it, don’t worry about it.  Don’t jeopardize your job.” I said, trying the spring roll now.  It was bland and flaked everywhere.

 

Polly snorted, “You come before the job, Ev.  The PRT is like...the 5th place down on my hierarchy of needs.”

 

“That’s not how the hierarchy of needs work.” I said, trying out the chicken fingers now.  Those were okay, but then again, everything tasted good drenched in duck sauce.

 

“I wouldn’t know, I studied criminology, not psychology.” Polly responded.  I didn’t say anything, instead taking another chicken finger from Polly’s plate with my hand.

 

“Hey, use utensils, don’t spread your germs all over the food.” She tutted.

 

“Shut up, you germaphobe.” I shot back, smothering my ill gotten gains in the tub of orange sauce and popping it in my mouth.  Polly grumbled something incomprehensible as I grabbed another one, but made no attempt to stop me. We sat in companionable silence for a while, with no noise but for the sound of mastication.

 

“Hey.” Polly said, finishing her beer.

 

“Yeah?” I asked, standing up to throw out my plate.

 

“I got you a gun.”

 

Thankfully, due to the small size of our apartment, I had already arrived in front of the trash can, and only bits of rice got onto the floor as I dropped my plate.  Polly walked over with a paper towel and began to clean it up as I stared at her in shock.

 

“You got me a what?”

 

“A gun.  It’s at the bottom of my suitcase.”

 

“A gun?  Why?”

 

“Self-defence.”

 

“Polly, I literally have superpowers.”

 

“You can’t always rely on that, and you’re already afraid of using them, what if-”

 

“And you thought the best way to help me was to buy me a _gun_ ?!” I shouted, “Are you crazy?  I’ve only ever shot one at a range!  And it was Dad’s old hunting rifle! What kind of gun did you get me, a pistol?  You got _me_ a _gun_ ?!  Is that even _legal_ , Polly?!”  Polly stopped cleaning and looked away uncomfortably.  So that was a no.

 

“You need one to defend yourself.  What if it’s someone you don’t see coming?  What if someone gets the drop on you while you were going to school?  What if you were in a position where you can’t use your powers? All it takes is one guy to get lucky, superpowers or no.”  She said quietly.

 

“You said yourself this was a _quiet_ city, Polly.” I replied.

 

“That doesn’t mean there’s no danger, Ev.” Polly said, her voice strained.  I looked at her. Her hands were clenched, eyes shining with moisture, “There are still _villains_ in this city, honest-to-god villains and criminals who have _killed_ before, and you’ll be the one out there fighting them.  I know that the PRT promises that you’ll be kept out of most of the fighting, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be kept out of _all_ of it, and if I lose you-”

 

I hugged her, tight as I could, arms wrapping around her as she buried her face in my shoulder and sniffled.  She was worried. My sister was worried and I hadn’t realized, too wrapped up in my own problems.

 

“I’ll most likely get hurt at some point Polly, it comes with the whole ‘superhero’ thing.  I can’t say that it won’t happen. But I will promise that I won’t intentionally go looking for a fight.” I said softly.

 

It took Polly several minutes to compose herself, and we stayed hugging next to the trash can the whole time.  Eventually she pulled away.

 

“Sorry.” She murmured, trying very hard to wipe her eyes without me noticing.

 

“S’what I’m here for.” I answered.  Polly snorted.

 

“That’s my line.” She said.  I shrugged.

 

“We can both use it.” I said.

 

“Please, Ev, just carry it, okay?  I’ll get you a concealed carry holster and everything.  For my sake?”

 

I didn’t have an answer for her, so I just went and grabbed more paper towels to help clean up.  

 

The night wound down after that.  We finished the food and unpacked our meager possessions.  We took out the bare necessities we needed for the night, leaving the majority of our clothing and smaller items for tomorrow.  I dragged my dark blue sleeping bag around me as I settled onto the thin mattress on top of my bed and slowly drifted off to sleep, thankfully not seeing any burned Wards, broken cities, or gunfire in my dreams.

 

\-----------------------

 

I ran my hands over the bright orange and red fabric of my costume, feeling genuine excitement for the first time in many weeks.  It was a full body suit, with a series of flame motifs that ran along the arms and legs. The center of the suit contained a simplistic looking sun that could light up and glow a mild yellow.  The fabric was smooth, yet stretchy, I tried tearing into it and was pleased that it resisted my efforts.

 

“The costume is made out of a special, heat resistant material, it’s been tested with other pyrokinetics in the Protectorate, including members like Cinereal and Plasmahawk, and won’t melt off when you use your powers.  It has a thermal weave, suited for both summer and winter wear and will keep your temperature regulated, while also tear and stab resistant. ” The head of PR in Boston was a Russian man named Yuri Raslov. He was stick thin, had a nasally voice, and his skin had a grey pallor to it that made him look like he was perpetually ill.  His fingers were laced together as he continued to lay out the details of my costume to me while I examined it.

 

“What about guns?” I asked, tracing a finger over a red flame design on the end.  My gloves were fingerless, a necessity considering how my power worked. I stuck a finger inside one sleeve, seeing how it felt on my skin.  It was silky smooth.

 

“Not tested against gunfire, I would not test it if I were you.” Yuri said, “It is meant to be a costume, not a set of armor.”  I nodded.

 

“Okay, I guess this is fine.  Is there anything else you need from me today?” I asked Yuri, who looked over the notes on his desk.

 

“Other than another meeting tomorrow to discuss the specifics of your debut, I am not seeing anything, Miss Everton.” He said, “You are free to go, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise!” I called behind me as I hurried to find a changing room.

A few minutes later found me in the Ward’s lounge again, with my costume on.  It was snug, and had taken a little bit of work to pull on. I suppose I should have felt a little embarrassed at how tight it was, but all I could do was marvel at how comfortable the fabric felt.  It didn’t pinch or ruffle anywhere, just smooth fabric the whole way down. My mask sat in my hand, a half visor that was shaped like a swirling fire.

 

“Damn girl, looking good.” Angie whistled when I walked in and I ducked my head in embarrassment, this thing was _tight_ , and I certainly didn’t have the body to really pull it off, I was never the athletic type.  She was sitting in the kitchenette, nursing a can of soda while scratching out paperwork. Caleb was also there, suited up but maskless.  He sat on the couch with a notebook on his legs and a pencil in his hand, scribbling something. Probably homework. Heather, or Cacophony, since she was masked, was manning the brand new console.  It was surprisingly how fast they managed to set one up again, but apparently both Remedial and the local Protectorate’s Tinker Blackout had offered up bits and pieces of equipment they had lying around to get the new system running ASAP, and the PRT was expedient in cleaning out the mess.  In totally it only took two days to get the new station up.

 

I walked over to the kitchenette and grabbed a glass of water.

 

“So.” Angie said as I sat down with my drink.  She looked up from her paperwork and was biting her lip, “I just want to say sorry again about the other day.  That was my bad, truly. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, really.” I said, waving a hand, “And it was still me who blew up the console, in case you forgot.”  

 

“We haven’t, and we still have to thank you for it!” Reynard blinked into existence next to me, eliciting an undignified sound of surprise as I choked on a sip of water.  He was the other Ward that hadn’t been present during my destruction of the console, but had become reverent of me when he learned of the story, asking for my autograph and a picture.  

 

He wasn’t in costume, instead dressed in a light sweater and jeans, meaning that he must’ve just arrived from school.  

 

“Matt, stop scaring the newbie.” Angie commanded, “But seriously, Ev, don’t worry about the console, things happen, we deal and move on.”  

 

“Things usually don’t involve me burning tens of thousands of dollars worth of electronics.” I said.  Angie shrugged.

 

“And sometimes they involve a multimillion dollar bridge going down into the river, we don’t let that get to us.”  She said, “So, how long you sticking around today?”

 

I shrugged, I didn’t exactly have friends in Boston yet, I started school next week, “I guess until my sister gets off work, so about four hours?”

 

Angie nodded and stood up, walking over to the console where Cacophony studiously ignored all of us.  Her mask was up, and she was staring at the scrolling map intently.

 

“Weld, Remedial, divert to route 3 when you get past the MIT building, reports are coming in of another student protest near there.” She said into the microphone next to the keyboard.  Angie walked up to her and leaned on the back of her chair, also examining the map and the feeds.

 

“Fuck off, Angela.” Cacophony said as the chair pitched backwards from Angie’s added weight.

 

“I was going to say you take this way too seriously, but I’m not messing with you today.” Angie remarked, reaching over and fiddling with the keyboard, “Gonna get the newbie started on console training, and you’re the lucky one to teach her.”

 

“There’s a manual for a reason.” Cacophony growled, slapping Angie’s hand away.  

 

“And we both know that the best way to learn about this beast of a machine is to actually see someone manning it.” Angie responded, disregarding Cacophony and typing a command in on the console, “Yo, Weld, Remedial, gonna go dark for like thirty seconds, need to reboot to training mode so Sunspot can get some time in, okay?”

 

The patrolling Wards replied in affirmation, and the console bank went dark as Angie started the rebooting process.  She waved me over and pulled up another chair to sit next to Cacophony. I walked over as Matt left to go change into costume.

 

“Okay, since you’re not officially trained on console yet, this will count towards your observation hours.” Angie explained, handing me a headset, “Might as well get them in now before your debut, otherwise you’ll be stuck here for a week or so.”

 

I put the headset on, a hum of noise filling my ears.  I could hear cars honking and the whistling of wind in the background.  Angie also moved the microphone and angled it towards me.

 

“Say hi, Sunspot.” She said.

 

“Hi.” I said hesitantly into the microphone.

 

“Hey, Sunspot, how’s it going.” Weld’s jovial tone overrode Remedial’s much quieter greeting.

 

“Um.  I’m okay, Weld.  Is there anything I need to do, or-?”

 

Cacophony pulled the microphone back towards her, “This is Cacophony, ID 61703, checking in for Sunspot, role, monitor observation.”

 

There was no response from the Wards, but a second green light turned on on the keyboard in front of us.  Cacophony turned the microphone away from the both of us while Angie patted my back and walked away, “Alright, have fun, Eveline, don’t burn down the new console!”

 

I cringed as she walked away, Cacophony didn’t seem to care, instead turning to face me.

 

“Console duty is about making sure the Wards keep to a set route and schedule, keep them in the public eye, and to alert them to any possible crimes in progress.” She explained, voice flat and stern.  I sat up a bit straighter, making sure not to miss a word, “It’s our job to make sure that they won’t be surprised by anything on the street, and to make sure that they can be routed to emergencies as fast and efficiently as possible.”

 

A pair of blinking ID tags on the road informed me of Weld and Remedial’s position on the city.  A grid was imposed on top, to help pinpoint locations faster, I assumed. Cacophony continued on about the ins and outs of console duty, with such an abundance of detail that I wondered if she’d memorized the rulebook I was given yesterday.  

 

By the time she was telling me which individual button did on the switchboard, and to which specific Ward or Protectorate hero they responded to, Caleb had finished his homework and gone back into his room while Reynard, having changed into costume, was busy playing a video game on a separate TV next to the couch.  Angie had long since gone to her room to file paperwork. Suddenly, our headsets squawked to life.

 

“Console, Remedial here, calling in to report what looks like to be a cape fight starting near the Smoot bridge, can you relay it up?” Cacophony jabbed a button on the keyboard.

 

“Remedial, console here, confirming a potential cape fight near B-3.  Can you identify any capes present?” She asked.

 

“Um, I see Radiant in the air and a few Ambassadors on a boat in the Charles, I think I can make out Othello and Capsule?  No other members of the Queen’s Court are present and she’s not shooting yet, but they are yelling something at each other.” Remedial answered.

 

“Acknowledged, Remedial.  Pull back and divert to route 4, I’ll relay it up.” Cacophony pressed a different button on the keyboard, “Protectorate main, confirm previous cape fight sighting from Remedial.”

 

“Protectorate main, confirmed, Dovetail and Golden Lance are enroute, tell them to pull back.” A voice reported back.  Cacophony responded in the positive.

 

“You’re really good at this.” I muttered.  Cacophony turned to say something to me, but was interrupted by the console coming to life again.

 

“Shit!  Radiant’s firing, she’s hit the bridge, cars are starting to pile!” Remedial’s voice sound frantic and shrill.  In the background, I could hear energy blasts and crunching metal as cars crashed into each other.

 

“Capsule has deployed some form of unknown Tinkertech!” Weld cried, “The boat is shimmering, and Radiant is focused on it, I’m going in to assist civilians.”

 

“Affirmative, Weld, stay safe.  Remedial, pull back and observe.  Report immediately if the situation changes.  Console out.” Cacophony replied. She switched the microphone off and sat back.

 

“Are they going to be okay?” I asked, worried.  Cacophony shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, I’m not the one out there.  Best we can do is follow procedure and make sure they have a good chance to get back safe, in the event of things like this, maintain radio contact, make sure that any developments is sent up the chain.  It’s the only thing we _can_ do.” She said, crossing her arms and glaring at the blinking caution symbols appearing around Remedial and Weld’s markers.

 

I joined her waiting in anxious silence.


	5. 1.5

The chair they had provided me was like one of those you see on movie sets, I always thought they looked uncomfortable to sit in, and I was right, the fabric was too scratchy, the frame too wobbly.  It felt precarious enough that a strong gust of wind would knock me over. But it was still exciting to have one of my own, it even had my cape name on the back. I tried not to move too much as a PRT employee brushed my face with blush.  The brush was worn, and scratchy, and threatened to make me sneeze with every movement. My mask was on my lap, and I felt myself running my hand over the etched designs on it in an effort to calm myself down. The other Wards were spread out around the tent, enjoying the snacks and drinks that were provided.  A few of them were also having makeup done, mostly the girls. 

 

Today was my debut to the public, and after a short meet and greet, I was supposed to go on my first ever patrol as a Boston Ward.  I hadn’t been able to sleep well last night, oscillating between worry and excitement. 

 

Finally, the makeup artist was done, and she walked away while making sure I wasn’t going to rub her hard work off the second she turned around.  I slipped my mask on and joined the other Wards in mingling around the prep tent. Palindrome gave me a bright smile and handed me a bottle of water as I approached.

 

“And here’s the girl of the hour!” She said, giving me a half hug, “Sorry I couldn’t get drinks for us, PR vetoed my budget plan.”

 

“Her budget plan also involved a fireworks display and getting the Jonas Brothers to play a concert, so don’t take her too seriously.” Hunch appeared at my side, offering me a donut, which I gratefully accepted.  I elected not to respond, instead nibbling on the pastry as I cast a gaze around the room.

 

Only a few members of the Boston Protectorate was present, chiefly Bastion and Golden Lance, who I met the day I slagged the console, and Crackshot, a tall, lanky man dressed in a light beige duster and hid his face with a wide-brimmed hat, goggles, and a bandana.  His costume was supposed to evoke the image of an old Western cowboy, with a pair of glowing Tinkertech six-shooters to match. They were here more in a security capacity than PR. The adults stood off to the side, conversing in low voices with both the Director and the Deputy Director.  

 

I had just finished my donut and was wiping off my hands as Director Armstrong approached me.

 

“How are you today, Eveline?” He asked.  

 

I wasn’t sure, my stomach was a broiling mess of excitement and anxiety, and the donut I’d just eaten wasn’t helping.  Public speaking was never my forte. That wasn’t to say I didn’t  _ talk _ much, but it was always with friends, in the hallways of school, tagging along with large groups of people and having inane conversations all the livelong day.  That didn’t mean I was comfortable with talking in front of people I didn’t now, especially a press gaggle, or in public. On the other hand, today was the day I was officially recognized as a  _ superhero _ .  With a real costume and everything.  Not just playing pretend in the backyard with a stick and a blanket.

 

“I’m fine, sir.” I lied, fiddling with the pockets on my costume and pulling out a small notepad with my pre written speech and a few bullet points for any ad-libbing I wanted to do.  The speech was short, barely a paragraph, and I’d be answering questions from the press right after. PR had also given me a small list of ‘okayed’ questions, anything off topic from those, the Deputy Director would field.  Or ignore. The whole thing would take at most fifteen minutes, supposedly.

 

A buzzer sounded in the tent, identical to the one in the Ward’s quarters, and maskless capes quickly pulled their headpieces on.  An intern poked his head in through the door,

 

“They’re ready to begin, sir.” He said to Director Armstrong.  He nodded and gestured to the Protectorate capes, who proceeded onstage with him.  There was a muted smattering of polite applause as he emerged.

 

“Hello, city of Boston.” The techies had set up small speakers backstage, so me and the Wards could hear every tinny syllable of the speech.  Director Armstrong launched into a short speech about the history of the city as well as the history of the PRT within the city, highlighting achievements and emphasizing the stability the PRT brought.  It sounded rehearsed, yet genuine at the same time. I wondered how much of that was experience and how much of it was the Director.

 

“And so, it is my great honor, to introduce to you the Boston Wards!”

 

A fanfare began to play, and the Wards began to file out one by one according to their ages, leaving me behind in the tent, nervously going over my notes one more time.  Eventually the fanfare stopped, and Director Armstrong began to speak again.

 

“It is also my great honor today, the purpose of this event, actually, to welcome another member to the ranks of our prestigious junior heroes.  She has come a long way from the west coast to help fight crime in our great city, everyone, please welcome Sunspot!”

 

The fanfare began again, this time with a smattering of snare drums alongside the horns, and the applause sounded louder.  My makeup artist gave me a nudge, and I woodenly stepped forward onto the stage.

 

The stage itself was set up overlooking the Boston Commons.  Weld had explained the history to me yesterday, apparently it used to be a communal grazing area for the farmers of Boston, but through the years it slowly turned into a park for the entire city.  The stage was set on a large patch of open grass, with several rows of chairs laid out in front, filled with reporters and cameramen. Camera flashes and clicks filled the air, and I trudged slowly to the Director to shake his hand.  He grasped it and leaned in close to my ear.

 

“Relax.  You’ll be fine.” He whispered, then straightened up and gestured to have me face the crowd.  I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out bit by bit through my mouth.

 

_ Inhale for five...release for ten… _

 

I tried to put on a smile as I addressed the crowd.  

 

“Hello, everyone, my name is Sunspot.” I gave a small wave as per the script, “As Director Armstrong said, I am the city of Boston’s newest Ward.  I am a pyrokinetic Blaster capable of manifesting small bolts of fire with concussive force.”

 

At this, I snapped my fingers, and let a small bit of the heat eke out.  It took many hours and many burnt dummies in the PRT gyms in the last week to be able to reproduce this without losing my control over the flames, and I have also gotten quite acquainted with the color and taste of containment foam since.  A flare of red and yellow erupted in my palm, and I held it out for the crowd to see, before pulling it back in with a flourish. The crowd clapped politely.

 

“I look forward to working with all of my teammates in the upcoming years, and I pledge myself to making an impact in the city.”  I finished with a bow, and the crowd clapped again as a sea of hands erected themselves. I pointed to one of the men in a grey suit in front of me.

 

“Thank you, Julian Mendez of the Boston Herald here, we wanted to know how long you have been a cape?”

 

Oh good, that was an easy one, I could pinpoint the exact date, time, and probably the longitude and latitude of my trigger.  Then again, so could a lot of other people. The ones I didn’t burn.

 

“I triggered relatively recently.” I said, “It’s been about two months.”  The reporter nodded his thanks and sat back down, scribbling on a pad. I pointed again, this time to a woman in a navy blue pencil skirt and suit.

 

“Abigail Hewsmorth of the Boston Globe.  Do you plan on staying in the city after you graduate to the Protectorate, or will you be transferring to a different department?”

 

“I don’t know yet.” I answered, “For now, I have no intentions of moving away from Boston.  I’ve already had to relocate once very recently, and I do not have any desire to do so again.”

 

The next fifteen minutes went by in a similar fashion.  I’d call on a reporter, they’d stand up and ask me their question.  Sometimes the questions got a bit weird, especially when a paper called the Argo asked if I was romantically involved with Cinereal, which caused a strangled laugh from Palindrome.  Deputy Director Yun stopped me from answering that one and asked the reporter to leave. 

 

“Ming Li, of the Rising Sun, are the rumors of you being the cape that severed Behemoth’s leg in the Tucson attack true?  And that you were the cape who levelled the city in the process?”

 

My breath hitched.  My heart stopped beating.  Everything seemed to freeze in my vision. 

 

_ What?  How did they- _

 

How did they know that?  

 

The PRT hadn’t exactly forbade me from talking about Tucson, but that didn’t meant that  _ I _ wanted to.  I still didn’t want to think about Behemoth or home, no matter how many therapists tried to get me to talk about it.  Talking about it made the nightmares real, it meant that it really  _ was _ me who destroyed the city.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready.  My mouth hung open as the reporter in the far back looked at me expectantly, awaiting an answer.  My throat felt dry.

 

“Uhh.  Um. I-I’m not sure I understand the question?” I squeaked.

 

_ Oh yeah, great going, make yourself look like an idiot some more in front of cameras, why don’t you! _

 

Thankfully, Director Armstrong took that opportunity to intervene, 

 

“And that’s all the time we have for questions today.  Sunspot will be making her inaugural patrol tonight, and additional information will be posted on PHO within the next hour.  Thank you all for coming!”

 

The fanfare started anew as we headed backstage, where I instantly ripped off my mask and sagged onto the grassy ground.  A bottle of water was pressed into my hand, which I quickly took a long drink out of, breathing heavily. 

 

“You okay?” Weld kneeled down next to me, worry etched into his metal face.  I nodded.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.  Sorry. Wasn’t expecting that question, was all.” I replied.

 

“You shouldn’t have been.” Director Armstrong’s brow was furrowed as he strode into the tent, “Yun, I want you to revoke the Rising Sun’s press passes for the next three events.  I don’t know and frankly don’t care how they got the Behemoth info, but let them know they shouldn’t be broadcasting it. This is only going to bring the watchdogs out of the woodwork.”

 

Deputy Director Yun nodded, hurrying out the tent.  I stood up as Director Armstrong approached me.

 

“I am very sorry about that, Sunspot, we weren’t anticipating them asking about Behemoth, they didn’t stick to the script.” He apologized.  

 

“It’s okay, Rising Sun are dicks anyways.” Palindrome called out, chewing on a donut, “Sensationalist hacks if you ask me.  One time they asked me if I was a CUI plant because I mentioned that I liked the hot pot place in Chinatown.”

 

“This is a little more serious than your food preferences, Palindrome.” The Director said, and she put her hand over her chest in mock horror, “But I agree, that question was out of line, I’ll make sure to let the press know that your past, known as it may be, should not be something that is broadcasted.”  

 

I nodded, “Okay, Director.  Thank you.”

 

He gave me a nod, and left to join Deputy Director Yun in conversation as the rest of the Wards gathered around me.

 

“Not the worst I’ve seen.” Palindrome said, licking sugar off her fingers, “Certainly beat out Caleb’s speech last year, he accidentally used his powers and fell through the stage.”

 

Heavyset groaned and looked away, folding his arms, “I’m never getting over that, am I.”

 

“Hell, no, I still have it on video, wanna see?” Palindrome procured her phone in front of my face, practically shoving the screen to my eyes, the video already playing.  

 

Heavyset’s costume had apparently gone through some changes since his debut, it looked to be more of a set of armor than his current suit and the color was a bit lighter.  He looked to be in the middle of answering a question when he suddenly dropped out of view and several people ran forward. The camera panned to reveal a hole in the wooden stage, Heavyset looking bewildered inside.

 

“Aah, never gets old.” Palindrome giggled, rewinding to the moment of the fall.  Heavyset crossed his arms and walked away. 

\---

It had barely been an hour, and I was already swimming in my own sweat and breathing heavily.  

 

Heavyset decided that the best way to acclimate me to patrolling in a busy city was to go for a run while explaining the various gangs that made Boston their home, a run that I realized I was sorely unprepared for.  We left the Commons at a slight jog, graduated to a mild run by the financial district, and by the time we were near the harbor, it had transformed into a flat sprint. I managed to keep up most of the way, only needing to stop a few times.

 

“You’ll get used to it.” Heavyset said, jogging in place next to me as I struggled to breathe, “Most of us either run in the morning or after school, once you settle into a routine, it’ll get easier.  Now, any questions about the Teeth or Accord?”

 

“Did...we...have...to...run...all...the...way...here?” I wheezed, clutching a stitch in my side.  Heavyset shrugged.

 

“Half of it’s hazing, the other half is because we were a little bit behind.  The Q&A section went on a little long.” He explained. Well, at least he was upfront about the hazing part.  

 

“Heavyset, Sunspot, you’re paused, something wrong?” Hunch’s voice filled my ear, and I thumbed the earbud to turn the communicator on.

 

“Just.  Just catching my breath, console.  I’ll be okay. Hoo. Just. Haven’t ran this much since the 5th grade mile.  Wasn’t ready for it.” I leaned on the railing of the bridge we’d stopped in.  Cars bustled to and from, seemingly uncaring to two Wards on patrol. To my left was the financial district, it was the same as most other cities’ financial districts I’ve seen, all tall, dark, and foreboding stone buildings.  To my right were a series of light grey and sky-blue glass high rises, with construction cranes dotting the skyline. There were a lot of people on the bridge, which made sense I guess, considering that it had just hit rush hour.  Thankfully, only a handful of them seemed to be paying attention to us. 

 

“Okay, while we’re stopped here anyways, I’ll move on to the Queen’s Court.” Heavyset said, nodding towards the developing area we were approaching, “Do you know anything about them?” 

 

I shook my head.  The last half hour had already educated me about more capes than I’ve ever known about in my life.  My home city certainly didn’t have this many. Tucson’s gangs were mostly limited to the smaller cartels that were ran out of Mexico, and most of them didn’t even have capes.  Our  _ Protectorate _ only had five capes total.

 

“‘S what I thought, they’re not exactly a known presence nationally, but they’re a local name here.” Heavyset began to jog off again, though at a much more sedated pace, one that I managed to follow.

 

“They’re old Lustrum followers, a group of four capes, names are Radiant, Lilith, Oversight, and Slipstream.” He began, holding up four fingers, “They’re some of the violent ones, part of the bunch that bought hard into the philosophy, and all were implicated in the first wave of attacks.  They are constantly advocating for Lustrum’s release from the Birdcage, operating less as a gang and more as a violent political group. The biggest thing they’re guilty of is the assassination of a mayoral candidate who was in favor of harsher cape enforcement. Technically, the Wards are never supposed to fight them, too dangerous.  Two of the members have killed before, and one of them, Lilith, has a Birdcage warrant out for her. They’re suspected to at least have a base of operations around here.”

 

“Um.  So is it safe for us to be out here then?” I asked.  I wasn’t prepared to fight, not against capes who didn’t follow the unwritten rules, but Heavyset shook his head.

 

“They think of themselves as righteous vigilantes, and don’t engage in any kind of drug pushing, territory grabs, or the like.  Every once in a while they’ll even drop off a gangbanger in front of the PRT building, usually mutilated in some fashion, as a statement.  However, they’ve never attacked a Ward, and on occasions have even tried to recruit Palindrome.” He explained.

 

“Whaddya mean they’ve never attacked a Ward, Radiant shot at me after I told them I wasn’t into girls!” Angie’s voice seemed distant in my earbud.  She probably had the headset on, but wasn’t near the microphone. Everyone ignored her.

 

We’d slowed down to a walk by now, having long gotten off the bridge.  All I could see around me now were brightly lit restaurants and half-built apartment buildings.  Distantly I smelled a salty sea breeze, though it was a bit muffled by car exhaust and chilly air.  

 

Pattering footfalls caught my attention.  A child ran up to me, holding out a notepad and a pen.

 

“Hi!  My name’s Molly!  Can I have your autograph?” She chirped.  A woman came running up behind her, dressed in a beige petticoat and clutching a purse to her chest.

 

“Molly!” She scolded, “Don’t run off like that!”  

 

Molly turned around, frowning.

 

“But mommy!  Look! Heroes!” She pointed between me and Heavyset excitedly.  I tried to smile and waved weakly to the mother, having no clue how to process this.  Was I supposed to say something? Do a trick?

 

The notepad was shoved in front of me again.

 

“Can you sign this?  Please? Pretty please, with a cherry on top?” I was treated to a very wide, very toothy smile.  I could distinctly make out a missing molar in her mouth. 

 

“Me?” I blinked in surprise.  Today was quite literally my first day on the job.  Why would someone want  _ my _ autograph?

 

“Yeah!  We saw you today at the park!  I liked the fire you made! It was so cool!  Do you know Legend? Can you fly? Can you teach me powers?” I reeled from the child’s rapid fire speech, resorting to blinking and stammering monosyllabic responses.  How do I respond to that?  _ Do _ I respond to that?  Do I go in order? Out of order?  Based on which one sounded the most excited?  

 

Thankfully Heavyset nudged me and gestured with his head at the pen still in Molly’s hands.  I blushed and took it, squatting down to be level with her and carefully signing ‘Sunspot’ in curly, loopy letters, as taught by PR.  I crossed the final ‘T’ and added a heart to the end and handed it back to the girl. She took it and gave me another bright smile.

 

“Thank you!  You’re really nice!  Can you do that fire thing again like you did at the park?  Please?”

 

This time, I was ready.  I smiled back her, and snapped my fingers, calling up the flames like I did during my debut speech.  This time, I let a little more flow out, letting the flame dance a little higher from my palm as I moved it to and fro.  Molly clapped her hands and jumped up and down giddily.

 

“Awesoooommmee!” She crooned.  Her mom picked her up and smiled at me too.

 

“Thank you for humoring her.” She said, “She’s been really into capes recently, and practically begged me to bring her to see your debut.”

 

Both me and Heavyset nodded in understanding, we’d been there.  The two left after that, with Molly waving furiously at me until she and her mom turned a corner, gone from sight.  

 

“That was nice.” I murmured, dropping my hand.  

 

“I want to say you get used to it, but I still haven’t.  Even if I only get asked a fraction as much as Palindrome and Remedial.” He said.

 

We stood in silence for a while, staring down the road where Molly and her mom had disappeared.

 

“Okay, time to go, we still need to cover Blastgerm and the Chain Gang before we get back, unless you want to read the files on them individually on your own time, which I’d advise against.  Blackout wrote them, so they’re boring as sin.” Heavyset began, jogging off again. 

 

I followed him, stitch in my side forgotten, a ridiculously wide grin still plastered on my face.


	6. 1.6

A disturbingly loud ringing roused me from my dreams, and I scrunched my eyes tight against the noise, pulling my covers over my head. Distantly I heard the sizzle of eggs on a pan and the smell of Dad’s coffee intermingling with-

My eyes snapped open and I shot up, fumbling for my phone and shutting off the alarm. My arm reached out and pulled my curtains open to let the sunlight in-and saw nothing but overcast grey and drizzling rain outside my window. That was another surprise Boston had in store for me, its lack of sunlight. I woke up to a lack of natural light, I left the PRT in the afternoon with a lack of natural light. The end result was that I felt eternally groggy, my body protesting and attempting to sleep even when it’s had its fill.

I was assured that this was normal for the winter months, that didn’t mean I had to like it.

I made my way across the hall, yanking the shower on while I brushed my teeth, hopping into the thing once the water was warm enough. I stood underneath the nozzle for a long while, letting the hot water sluice over my body to help wake me up. The bathroom steamed heavily in the cold morning air. 

Eventually, I shut the water off, stepping back into my room and getting dressed for school. I never thought I’d actually be excited to go to school, but here I was, excitedly looking over my book bag to make sure everything was in place. It felt like another piece of normalcy again, another piece of what was right. Routine. 

I stumbled out into the kitchen, still rubbing my shoulders in an attempt to warm myself despite the heavy wool sweater I had on.

“What, did we run out of firewood in the middle of the night or something?” I hissed, sneaking a look at whatever breakfast Polly was making. Just eggs and bacon, over-easy and extra crispy, if the amount of grease in the pan was anything to go by. My sister apparently had zero sensation left in her body, as she was wearing nothing but a thin bathrobe and a towel draped over her shoulder. She turned around and gave me a look, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

“What?” I asked, still angrily rubbing my shoulders.

“Honey, don’t you have powers? Really nice and powerful fire powers? Fire that you can shoot from your hands? How are you cold?” She asked incredulously.

“In case you forgot temperature normalizes within a certain range of me, I can’t feel my own fire, Polly. And even if I could, it probably still won’t be enough, and let’s not even start about how I can melt down this whole building. God, I feel like I woke up in the ninth circle of hell or something.”

Polly just laughed at my pain, the traitor, and gestured to the cabinets, “Can you set the table, please? This is almost done and I need to get changed.”

“It’s so cold.” I whined as I gathered two plates and two sets of utensils and poured myself a mug of coffee from the bubbling pot, smothering it in milk and sugar before taking a sip. It didn’t help against the freezing air. Polly deposited two eggs and three strips of bacon on my plate alongside a piece of toast. I began to eat while she left to get dressed.

Soon, Polly emerged from her room, having undergone her morning metamorphosis from pink fuzzy bathrobe and slippers to a pressed black suit and skirt. She sat down across from me and began picking at her own food while thumbing along her phone. 

“So you’re headed straight to the PRT building after school?” She asked, a piece of egg white balanced precariously on her fork. I nodded.

“Yeah, Angie wants me to finish up the rest of my protocol training so I can go on regular patrol. She said she’ll meet me right after school and we can go together.”

“Doesn’t she go to a different school than you? How’s that going to work?” My sister asked. 

“Dunno.” I answered, shrugging, “She said she’ll be there, though.”

“Mm. Okay. That’s fine then.” She stopped to take a sip of coffee and another bite of food, “So. It’s been a week and a half. How are you feeling?”

I groaned, “Polly, come on, I literally have a therapy session tomorrow.” 

“Yes, but as your sister and your guardian, I need to know now, not later. Do you like the Wards here? Do you like the PRT here? Do you like this city?” She wasn’t giving up on this.

“It’s all fine, Polly. Promise. The city’s okay, the PRT is okay, the Wards are okay. And honestly I’m just surprised they didn’t run me out of town when I set half the basement on fire.” I said.

“That wasn’t your fault, Ev.” 

“It really kinda was.”

Polly opened her mouth to continue arguing, but I stood up and put my plate in the sink, then retreating to my room to make sure I had everything I needed in my backpack again. When I emerged, Polly had also finished her breakfast and was in the process of pouring more coffee into a thermos. 

“I’ll be right down, can you go start the car?” She asked, tossing me the keys. 

Despite Polly’s protests and promises on our roadtrip, she didn’t end up getting rid of our family’s old truck. In a way, I was happy about that. It was nice to have another piece of home, especially now that home was a smoking crater in the Sonoran Desert. The engine spluttered to life as I turned the key, filling the air with the smell of gasoline and smoke and I leaned into the passenger seat, waiting for the car’s old radiator to heat up the cab. Polly came down just minutes after me and we drove off soundlessly. 

The Josiah Quincy high school was parked right in the middle of the city, next to a hospital and quite literally down the street from Boston’s Chinatown. It stood about three stories tall and was composed of dirty red brick and dirty, blackened concrete. There was a tiny parking lot to the side, and I felt awkward as I stepped out the car, seeing most students arrive on foot. Polly escorted me inside, past a set of double steel doors, and towards the principal’s office.

Principal Matsuzaka had a very firm handshake. His hand was massive and calloused, dwarfing mine as he greeted me and Polly in turn.

“Hello, Miss Everton, Miss Everton. Please, have a seat.”

I sat down in the visitor’s chair, it was hard, tacky plastic and dug uncomfortably into my thighs. Principal Matsuzaka sat down in his own chair, a far more comfortable looking wooden thing and began rifling through a mess of papers on his desk.

“First and foremost, I would like to formally welcome Eveline to Josiah Quincy high school.” He said, drawing out a class schedule and handing it to me, before turning to address Polly, “We are committed here to ensuring that you will receive the highest level of education that we can offer, and to ensure that Ms. Everton’s...extracurricular activities will not have any impact on that. The staff here know of your circumstances, in case any situations arise.”

Both of us nodded at the code. Sounded about right, the other Wards had detailed something similar regarding their schools. Apparently every once in a while they were called out of class if there was an emergency and the Protectorate couldn’t respond fast enough. In those hypothetical emergencies, they would be called out of class and put in a PRT van to costume up and help out. Polly began to discuss a few things with the principal and I tuned out, looking over my schedule. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Since I was transferring in after the school year began, I missed out on a lot of electives, instead having them replaced with study halls. This meant that most days I had an hour and thirty minutes of free time. 

The introductions didn’t go for too much longer. Polly gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out, and I left the principal’s office to find my minder for the day waiting outside the office. He was tall, almost a head taller than me, and broad chested, with curly brown hair that fell down to the tips of his ears. His eyes were more focused on a piece of homework that he was scribbling than anything else in the hallway. I cleared my throat and he looked up, giving me a sheepish smile and shouldered his bag and binder while extending a hand for me to shake. 

“Hi, name’s Jake. Jake Hannigan. You must be the transfer student.” He said. I accepted it. His hand was softer than I expected, and warm.

“Eveline Everton. Nice to meet you.” I said. 

“Likewise. Okay, so I’ll be your guide for most of today, since we share almost the exact same schedule. The good thing is that the building is very small, despite the three floors, and the layout is the exact same every floor, so hopefully you won’t get confused. Let’s get you to your locker first.” 

We set off, weaving in and out of the throngs of students that were still dumping books and binders into lockers, and groups that congregated in the halls for the latest gossip.

“So, where’re you transferring in from? Charlestown? Roxbury? One of the other Quincies?” Jake asked, trying to make small talk as we were waiting for a particularly large group of girls to move out of the way.

“I just moved to the city recently, so I guess I’m transferring from the south.” I said.

“Oh? That’s interesting. How south?” Jake asked as we managed to push past. We approached a row of lockers near the back of the building. They were tiny, the color of puke green, and covered in a mess of graffiti and dirty as all hell. Bet you wouldn’t be able to shove someone inside one of these. 

“Arizona.” I said.

Jake whistled, “That’s pretty south, you sure don’t sound like it.”

 

“Is mah suth’rn accent not up to yer standards? Am I not saying ‘y’all’ enough?” I drawled, eliciting a laugh from Jake.

“Okay, okay, point made. Still, Arizona. That’s far. What prompted the move?”

I shrugged, “Behemoth.” 

Jake fell silent. Damn, I really needed to stop doing this to people.

We neared the end of the hall on the second floor now, students were sparse and the air was quiet. He rapped a knuckle on one of the lockers, “This one’s yours. 1137. And here’s your lock, don’t lose it, don’t let it get stolen, otherwise you’re paying out of pocket for a new one.”

“Seriously? Who steals a lock?” I asked, accepting the silver and black hunk of metal and memorizing the combination on the back. Jake shrugged.

“They cost like twenty bucks, most kids here are lower income, that’s a big expense for some. Anyways, get your books in there, we gotta get to math.”

The day passed quickly, and I found myself genuinely enjoying both classes and Jake’s company, despite my previous grumpiness in the cold morning. 

That quickly stopped once I got to lunch.

“What is this stuff?” I muttered grumpily, poking my plastic spork in a brown gelatinous mess the lunch ladies described as ‘turkey in gravy’. 

“It’s food is what it is.” Victor responded.

I was sitting with Jake and what he called a ‘ragtag collection of vagrants and rejects’. There were only two others, a guy and a girl. The one who spoke was called Victor, a nerdy fellow who also had the unfortunate genes of being short and stocky alongside bad vision, a combination that made him look like every stereotypical nerd Hollywood ever produced.

He stuck another sporkful of the weird gelatinous mass in his mouth and chewed. 

“Tastes fine.”

I gagged and pushed the tray away from me.

“It truly is the epitome of fine dining in public education. That’s why I bring my own lunch.” Jake said, chewing on a pretzel. He had a small bag of them along with a sandwich. 

“Yeah, no, I’m not putting this anywhere near my mouth, it has the consistency of glue.” I stood up to throw my tray into the trash, “Is there any decent fast food around here?”

“Tons.” Jake said, “Just can’t get to it.”

My eyes narrowed, “What? Why?”

“It’s a closed campus, Eveline.” Julia spoke up around a mouthful of turkey, she was the other member of the lunch table, and like Victor seemed completely unimpeded by the inedibility of the school lunch, “Kinda like a prison, we can’t leave ‘til the end of the day.”

“That’s not how prison works, Julia.” Victor grumbled, he had taken a notebook out and was doing homework on the lunch table.

“How would you know, Vic, you’ve never been to prison.” She sniped back.

“No, but I’ve read about them.” 

“Reading is different from experiencing, all I’m saying is that you don’t know if guys in prison get to go home at the end of the day.”

The two continued to argue back and forth while I slumped dejectedly back onto the lunch table with Jake patting me on the back in an effort to console me. 

“Cheer up, at least we only have three hours left until we’re free. Here, take a pretzel.” He said, handing me the bag.

\----

Angie was waiting for me at the front of the school with a greasy brown paper bag in her hands. She handed it to me without looking as I walked up, still tapping away on her phone.

“You’re a lifesaver.” I said, opening it and taking a look inside.

“That I definitely am. Why didn’t you just go grab something during your lunch period though?” She asked.

“Couldn’t. It’s a closed campus.” I answered. There was some kind of sandwich being held in a cardboard bowl inside.

“So? Mine is too, but I sneak out during lunch anyways to grab coffee.”

“I...but that’s breaking the rules?”

Angie scoffed, “Really? You’re worried about rule-breaking? Ain’t you a total goody-two-shoes.”

I shrugged, “My parents had standards for me.”

“Yeah, so do mine, I just don’t give a damn about them.” Angie said, tossing her hair back.

I ignored her and fished the sandwich out of the bag. It was a browned, toasted hot dog bun, stuffed to the point of bursting with bits of lobster and coleslaw, and was struggling to be contained in the small cardboard box it came in. I sniffed at it and poked the bun. It was very soft and oily, almost to the point of being mush.

“What is this? I thought you were getting McDonald’s” I asked.

“First of all, no, I’m not buying you McDonald’s, you heathen. Second of all, it’s a lobster roll, and since you’re new in town you have to try one. Captain’s orders. It’s good, trust me.” Angie egged me on. My stomach growled in agreement with her, so I lifted the box up to my face and took a bite. 

She was right, it was good. The bread was buttery and lightly toasted while the lobster inside was springy and sweet, and the coleslaw provided a nice crunch and contrast to everything else. Or maybe I was just really hungry.

“Hah!” Angie said, snapping a picture of me with my mouth full, “Weld owes me ten bucks, he said you wouldn’t like it.”

“To be fair, I’m so hungry that I think I would’ve eaten just about anything.” I said, taking another bite of the sandwich and trying to save Weld’s wallet. 

“Hush, it’s definitely because of your team leader’s knowledge and proficiency in understanding her subordinates that allowed me to find you a delicious lunch that you enjoy.” Angie slipped her phone into her pocket and began guiding me down the street, away from school.

“Aren’t we gonna wait for Heather? I saw her by her locker before I left.” I said, still stuffing my face. Angie shrugged.

“She knows how to get to there on her own, besides, we’re gonna take the long way there.” She said.

“The long way?”

Angie began to walk faster, “Yeah, we’re gonna do something that’s just astonishing in this day and age. We’re gonna go for a walk.”

It turned out that my new school was a forty five minute walk to the giant blue glass building of the PRT, which was nice to know, I guess. I also found out that Angie knew the ins and outs of the city like the back of her hand, directing and guiding me through shortcuts and other similar paths and byroads.

“If our schedules ever match up, let’s go for longer ones on the weekends.” She said, pulling on the jacket of her costume. We were in the Ward’s locker rooms, getting changed, “I hate being around my house unless I’m there to sleep, and I don’t always want to be here either, ‘cause Bastion and Armstrong get on my case about paperwork, so sometimes I just pick a direction and wander.”

“Just...anywhere?” I asked, groping my back for the zipper of my suit, “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

“Everywhere’s dangerous nowadays. Charlestown’s dangerous ‘cause of the Ambassadors, anywhere south of Mattapan is infested with Teeth, I have a friend from school who lives in Allston who has literally seen Blasto’s little pets just wandering around, not to mention that rash of unsolved murders that’s been popping up all over Dorchester. Shit happens, Ev, I’m not going to sacrifice my freedom and time because I might get shot.” Palindrome shrugged, pulling on her helmet and tapping the visor to wake it up, “Besides, it’s not like I’m stupid about it, I’m one of the privileged few that can get the Protectorate to respond at a literal drop of a hat, not to mention I can take care of myself. I am a superhero, after all.”

I finished zipping up my suit but decided to go maskless as we proceeded to the Wards common room. 

It was empty, surprisingly, the couch was devoid of human life, the kitchenette clean and cleared, even the console was missing its usual resident, only blinking lights and scrolling feeds. Angie and I set up in front of the console for my last observation session before I was cleared to man the console on my own. 

 

The Wards began to trickle in slowly as we fiddled with the console. Angie pointed out the smaller nuances that Heather hadn’t gone over with me before; how specific Wards like to respond and what that translated to in terms of protocol, what some of rarer emergency codes meant, and of course, the Endbringer protocols.

“That isn’t to say that we’re expecting an Endbringer.” She explained, thumbing the blue plastic casing that housed a giant red button, “But as always, better to be prepared than, y’know, dead. And this technically isn’t an Endbringer button, we also use it for any Class S threat. This thing will set off the alarms, so really the only time we’re allowed to press it is either during a test run, or if literally everybody upstairs and out by Castle Island are incapacitated in some way, otherwise, it stays locked, and mostly forgotten.”

I nodded both in acknowledgement and agreement.

\---

Doctor Yamada was...an interesting kind of therapist. To begin with, she was dressed in a floral print sweater and thick corduroy pants when I first met her, then it was when she insisted on being called Jessica. 

All the other PRT therapists that I had met during my journey across the country had built their sessions around the fact that they would only meet me once, and then I’d be out of their lives forever, so our talks were usually to the point, concise, and very short. 

Dr. Yamada decided that the first thing she wanted to do with me was to play a board game. She had a dozen of them packed in a drawer in her desk. I picked Battleship. 

It was raining outside, the view out her office was of an overcast sky and raindrops pattering against the glass. The office was comfortable, it spoke of someone spending large amounts of time inside it. There were oaken bookcases all along the walls, and similarly colored furniture upon which we sat. We both had a steaming mug in front of us. Hers was coffee, mine was hot chocolate. 

“Umm...E6?” I asked, cross-legged on a large, cushioned wooden armchair, fiddling with a small red tack.

“That’s a hit. You’ve sunk my battleship, Eveline.” 

She smiled at me as she placed a tack on her board.

“Okay, my turn. A4?” 

I glanced down at my board. Miss.

“Nothing there.” I said. My ships were clustered close together, towards the bottom of the board; a risky strategy, but it was one that I usually beat Polly with, therefore it was also tried and true. 

“So, Eveline, how is Boston treating you so far?” Dr. Yamada asked, eyes glued to her screen and plotting her next move. I shrugged, it was my default answer to that question more often than not.

“It’s been fine. Just not used to the cold.” I answered and Dr. Yamada nodded sagely.

“The northeastern chill does surprise a lot of people, but I’m glad you’re settling in. F10?”

“That’s a hit.” I said, and we both put a tack on our respective boards. 

“How about school? The Wards? Any problems there you would like to talk about?” She took a sip from a mug that smelled strongly of coffee. I fiddled with a red tack and stared at my board. 

“No, no problems. School’s fine, the Wards are nice. F7?”

“Miss. And your sister? Is she liking Boston?” 

“She’s fine too, I guess. She’s been going to work, I’ve been going to school. And patrol. We haven’t seen each other too much this last week.” I took a deep breath and looked up from the board, “Okay. I’m ready. Hit me with it.”

“Hit you with what, Eveline?” Dr. Yamada asked me quizzically.

“Tucson. Home. Arizona. I’m ready for it. Ask me.”

Dr. Yamada slowly dropped the red tack back into its holder and I tensed, ducking my head. 

Okay, maybe not completely ready for it.

“Eveline.” Dr. Yamada began, causing me to tense up even more, “My job here isn’t to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m not here to force you to remember things you don’t want to.” 

“I know that, it’s just-it’s what Dr. Stein said I should be trying to do. Back in Houston. He said that talking about the trauma would help me move past it. So let’s talk about it.” 

Dr. Yamada pursed her lips, “Yes, that is true, Eveline, talking about the trauma could help. But do you want to talk about it?”

I didn’t answer. Dr. Yamada made her move. It landed. I made mine. It missed. 

“I...I don’t know. Probably not.” I murmured, fiddling with the red tack in my hands and not meeting her eyes. The board was very interesting. Very blue. Very plastic.

“That’s okay. Take your time, we have plenty of it.” Dr. Yamada said, putting the mug to her lips again.

“...Okay. I-I...Thank you. C2?”

“That’s a hit.”

\--


	7. 1.7

I stared at the badly burnt hand in front of me.  The skin was blackened and charred, I could see congealing blood and bits of bone sticking out.  I covered my mouth with my hands, trying not to puke.

 

_ Oh god oh shit oh god oh shit _

 

“Sunspot!  Snap out of it!” Cacophony yelled in the background.  She was currently wrestling a man dressed in patchwork body armor to the ground, I watched her plant a solid punch into his solar plexus, and he drooped.  

 

“I-I, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.” I muttered, throwing the charred hand away from me, its owner was on the ground, writhing in too much pain to even scream.  

 

We were on a routine patrol, route 6, it took us closer to the southern bits of the city, where the Teeth were based out of.  Usually, they didn’t dare venture out their hidey holes while patrols were nearby, but apparently tonight was an initiation, and we managed to walk right into them.  

 

When we first chanced upon them, they were gathered around a large burning oil drum in the middle of a baseball diamond while what looked like a fighting ring was the primary attraction.  We watched men and women in various states of dress try to kill each other in a frenzy while the audience cheered. Cacophony wanted to radio it in and go into overwatch, but a lookout spotted us and raised the alarm, though she managed to get a good shot off with her power before they organized and spilled the burning oil drum onto its side, causing momentary panic and allowing us to find cover before the shooting started.

 

They had two capes overseeing the entire affair, obvious from their masks and extra skulls hanging on their bodies, and maybe because one of them was glowing.  Palindrome informed us by their appearance that they were probably Quarrel and Helios.

 

Quarrel was a slender and long-necked woman, almost graceful in appearance; except for her horrifying arrangement of mix and matched armor along with the assortment of skulls and teeth wrapped around her waist and draped over her chest.  She had a bow in her hands, and was nocking an arrow on its string while scanning the fight, patiently looking for either one of us. 

 

Helios, on the other hand, was a Brute, in both senses of the word, and as such, was barreling his way towards Cacophony, going even as far as to backhand his own men out of the way if they found themselves in front of him.  The sickly yellow forcefield that surrounded him was almost blinding in the dark of night, and seemed to glow brighter with each passing minute. 

 

Another Teeth grunt found his way to my front, swinging a baseball bat wrapped in metal chains.  I leapt backwards instinctively, leaving a scorching patch of grass where my feet used to be as my power flared.  Cacophony was somewhere to my left, engaging another unpowered gang member while desperately trying to stay out of the capes’ ranges.  She already had one arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

 

Palindrome was continuously briefing us on the status of our reinforcements, resulting in a continuous buzz of words in my ear that I could barely keep track of.  In a way, I was really glad that she was on console tonight, sure sometimes she says things that shouldn’t be said, and spent most of the night trying to get a rise out of Cacophony, but right now she was the spitting image of clarity and professionalism.  If it was any other Ward, they would be in various stages of panic. Wards weren’t supposed to get into fights like this.

 

The bat found its way towards my face again, and this time I ducked instead of dodging, launching myself forward and trying to tackle the man to the ground.  

 

Thankfully, I managed to connect, dodging the impending sports equipment to my face.  Not so thankfully, my back exploded in pain, and I glanced back to see an arrow in my peripheral vision.  

 

_ That fucking hurt! _

 

I pushed myself off the man I’d tackled and began making my way towards Cacophony, who was also trying to retreat.  I was panting when I reached her, half in pain and half in exhaustion, taking cover behind some trees at the edge of the park.  

 

“Console.” Cacophony said, snapping off the arrow shaft embedded in her shoulder.  I winced at the sound, “We took down about three unpowered members, but they’re still coming.  Why are the Teeth being so aggressive? They usually back off when we show up and punch out one or two.”

 

“Drugs, alcohol, you crashing an initiation, Sunspot burning that one guy’s arm off, Quarrel’s a massive bitch, take your pick.” Palindrome responded, “Not important, keep heading down the street; containment vans, Golden Lance, and Blackout are approaching, once they get there the capes should take off and the rest of the goons will scatter too.  How’s the arm?”

 

Heather grunted, “I’m fine, Sunspot got hit too.  Fucking Quarrel.”

 

“Sunspot?  You okay?” Palindrome’s asked.  I shifted, trying to crane my neck around and see the arrow in my back.  The ash grey shaft was still visible. I reached up and grabbed it, willing the heat to burn it off.  Thankfully I managed to keep control over the flames, and it didn’t spread beyond the arrow shaft.

 

“This  _ hurts _ .” I winced as I pulled out the remains of the arrow, trying not to gag at the sight of my own blood.  Around us we heard the scratching of chains on pavement and stone, while they searched for us with the occasional yell.  

 

“Okay, honey, it’ll be fine, Remedial’s on standby for when you guys get back.  Just hang in there, okay?” Palindrome said. I gave a thumbs up, then realized she couldn’t see it, so I gave a quick noise of affirmation instead.

 

“Count of three, we start down the street again, do you see any houses further down?” Cacophony asked.  I looked, we were in a relative suburban area, and houses were farther in between than if we were in the heart of the city.  Distantly I could spot a light blue colonial, its windows lit up in the dull yellow of lightbulbs. 

 

“Yeah, one, why?” I said, still short on breath.  My power was humming in the back of my head now, itching to lash out.  I kept it held down,  _ one _ mutilated person was more than enough for tonight, thank you very much.

 

“Making sure we lead them  _ away _ from civilians.  Let’s try to skirt around that house.” Cacophony said, peeking out from our hiding spot.

 

That proved to be a mistake, as the tree trunk by which we had found refuge behind exploded in splinters and scraps of bark.  A thick muscled arm punched its way through, looking to grab ahold of either one of us.

 

“Found you, you little shits!” Helios roared.  I screamed, mostly in panic and fear. Cacophony grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me forwards.

 

“Run!” She yelled as the Teeth cape drove another fist into the tree, splintering it further.  A groan indicated its imminent fall, but I didn’t stay behind to watch, my feet were already operating at full sprint as I propelled myself down the open road.  Behind me, Cacophony let loose another scream, this time angled for volume rather than force, causing a pained yell from Helios. 

 

I kept running, leaving behind a trail of flaming footprints, unable to keep my power totally in check.  I felt the heat crawling all over my arms and threatened to spill out, my stomach felt like it was being boiled alive.  

 

Suddenly my leg exploded in pain, and I pitched forward, screaming, fire pouring off of me in an all consuming wave.  It screamed down the road like a bright orange and red wraith, catching on the surrounding foliage and setting it alight.  

 

_ No!  No, no, no, nonononononono! _

 

I reached out, desperately trying to pull the fire back, to no avail.  The conflagration was too far out of my range now, and it was still travelling.  I tried to chase it, but the arrow sticking out of my calf decided to remind me again of its presence, causing me to cry out in pain, tears swimming in my eyes.  

 

“Sunspot?  Sunspot! What’s happening?” Palindrome’s voice was crackled and garbled, I didn’t know if that was because of the state of my earbud or the state of my own ears.

 

“Sh-shot in the leg, and-and accidentally lit th-the everywhere on  _ fire _ and I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I!” I trailed off, looking up to see a mask carved out of ivory, a face with jagged teeth curving into a leering smile, and an arrowhead pointed in my face.

 

Quarrel had caught up to me.  She grabbed me by the throat and pulled me up.  This close, her armor looked a lot more terrifying; crimson and black, with curved bones and blades jutting out from the joints and shoulders.  Like a samurai but designed by the Hot Topic board of directors. She was standing over me, radiating smug satisfaction.

 

“Not so tough, ‘Endcapper’.” Her voice was surprisingly soft, and smooth, a complete juxtaposition to the guttural and hoarse one I was expecting.  Was that stereotypical? To assume she would sound like an elderly smoker because of her chosen profession? That I just assumed anyone who was aligned with the Teeth would sound like crack addicts?  Would she take offense to that? 

 

I giggled at the thought and the air deprivation.

 

_ Look at me, being concerned about a villain’s feelings. _

 

Quarrel growled and dropped me back onto the pavement.  I landed right on my previous wound. 

 

God that hurt.  

 

I tried to breathe, but my lungs disagreed, and a hacking cough was forced out instead.  I saw flecks of blood land on my costume.

 

The arrow that Quarrel was holding grew increasingly larger in my field of view.  

 

Oh, it must be coming towards my face.

 

_ This is it.  This is the end.  It’s what I deserve. _

 

_ I’m sorry, Polly. _

 

A beam of light exploded in front of me, and I suddenly found myself bathed in white light, temporarily blinded.  Quarrel was knocked back, but caught her balance. She growled and began to flee, running off into the distance. The forcefield shimmered and condensed itself on the road, revealing Golden Lance.  Her hair was a mess, indicative of a panicked flight, and her costume was similarly disheveled. She rushed to my side while the surprisingly speedy form of Blackout’s armor engaged with Quarrel.

 

_ Why?  She’s going to get away now.  Go after her, leave me. _

 

“Hey, hey, Sunspot?  Look at me. It’ll be okay.  I just need you to focus, okay?” She said.  I nodded, the previous adrenaline now truly gone.  My eyes felt heavy. I felt them begin to close.

 

“Sunspot?  Sunspot, I need you awake.  Sunspot, please.” Golden Lance shook me gently, “Stay awake, an ambulance is almost here, okay, Sunspot?”  

 

I tried to breathe again, and this time was helped by the Protectorate hero gently massaging my chest.  I drew in a shuddering breath and felt my vision clearing slightly. 

 

The baseball field was on fire.

 

Cacophony and I clearly did not retreat as much as we thought, the baseball diamond where we had first chanced upon the Teeth was now well and truly ablaze.  Flames smothered the greenery, and even the batting cages to the side were beginning to smoke and melt. The trees that dotted the road were also aflame, like massive candle wicks in the night.  

 

“Oh no.” I whispered, “No, no, no no nononono.”

 

I struggled to my feet with Golden Lance’s help and tried to make my way over to the worst of the blaze, trying to pull it back into me.  The heroine stopped me, trying to hold me back.

 

“Sunspot, no, don’t, we have it under control.” She urged, trying to get me to lie down again.  I struggled against her grip.

 

“‘Smy fault, need to go fix...it.” I slurred, reaching out to the patch of fire nearest to me, pulling on the heat as hard as I could.  It barely flickered. 

 

_ Come  _ **_on_ ** _ you stupid power, fix this! _

 

That was my last thought before consciousness left me.

 

\--

 

I woke up to the sound of an EKG machine beeping, a steady staccato note that told me I was alive.  I cracked open my eyes, or at least tried to. It took effort, they felt as though someone had glued them shut.  White ceiling tiles and stark fluorescent lights greeted me as I finally managed the Herculean feat. 

 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Caroline’s voice sounded far away.  And tired. I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, but was stopped by the pain behind my shoulder and fell back into the pillows again, wincing.  

 

“Don’t try to move.” The Tinker’s voice sounded closer now, and she appeared in my field of view, mask askew and eyes bloodshot, “Scanner says classic symptoms of exhaustion, so you’re on an IV right now.  Nothing else threatening, so just rest, okay?”

 

I nodded weakly, pulling the covers closer to my face.

 

“Where’s Heather?” I tried to ask, but my voice was cracked and reedy.  A cup of water was pushed in front of my face with a straw. I drank. 

 

“Here.” Heather called from somewhere to my right, and I turned myself to get a look at her.  She looked angry, but also tired, frowning and glaring at the door to the recovery ward. A bandage was patched over her cheek, an angry, purple bruise peeking out from under it.  She was dressed in a hospital gown, like me. 

 

_ Who the hell changed me into this? _

 

Unlike me, she was pacing angrily next to her bed.

 

Before I could ask her how she was, the door opened.  Angie walked in, looking more tired than I’d ever seen her.  Her helmet was tucked underneath an arm and she blinked blearily as she adjusted to the bright lights. 

 

“Yo.  You’re alive.  Good.” She said, “So I got some good news, and some shitty news.  Which one first, girls?”

 

When none of us answered, she sighed, “Okay, good news first it is.  Good news, fires were contained, don’t worry, Sunspot, as far as we can tell most of the fire was limited to just the field and one house was slightly scorched.  Also good job to the both of you, bringing in Helios. That’s the win for us tonight.”

 

Angie paused in contemplation, biting her lip, then went over to a cooler in the corner to grab a drink of water.

 

“Shitty news.” She said, gulping the water down greedily before dropping the paper cup in a trashcan, “Reason why the Teeth were being a bunch of hardasses tonight.  The Butcher’s back in town.”

 

There was a sharp intake of breath from the three of us.  The Butcher was bad news in general when he simply existed as a nebulous concept in New York, but here, in Boston?  

 

“Why the fuck’s he here?” Heather asked, “This is a smaller branch of the Teeth, why the interest?”

 

Palindrome shrugged, “I don’t have a singular goddamn clue, and neither does Hunch, all he knows is that his knee feels weird.  Butcher was spotted out in Watertown tonight, which is why it took time to reroute backup. Bastion and Dovetail engaged him earlier, and Dove took a hit.  Armstrong’s on the phone right now to ask for New York’s help, while Yun is trying to get the media not to air the fact we also set half of Roslindale on fire.”

 

I averted my eyes, “Sorry.”

 

Angie sighed, “It’s okay, it happens.  Powers are a bitch sometime. Just. I’ll need to schedule some more training for you, okay, Eveline?  Tonight was a...bad situation, but we can work through this.”

 

I nodded, not really believing her.  Speech over and messages delivered, Angie put her helmet on and gestured to Remedial to follow her.  The door whirred shut behind the two of them, and I slumped into my bed, closing my eyes and trying to force the night’s event out of my head.  

 

I heard a thump near the foot of my bed.  

 

Heather was standing there, arms crossed and staring at me.  Even with her face covered in bandages and bruises, I could tell she was angry.

 

“I know, I fucked up.” I grumbled, completely not in the mood to continuously get chewed out.

 

“Yeah, you fucked up.” Heather said.  Dammit, I  _ really _ wasn’t in the mood for this.

 

“What do you want, Heather.” I turned my head away.

 

“For you to not be a fuck up.” 

 

“I’m  _ trying _ , I just-”

 

“You’re not.” She interrupted me.  

 

_ What?  How dare she- _

 

I turned to look at her, “How dare you-”

 

“You aren’t trying at all.” She continued, ignoring me, “A whole two weeks of being an active Ward and all I see is you still being scared of your powers.”

 

“No shit I’m scared!  You’d be scared too! And I am trying, I-”

 

“You sit around base on your ass all day doing nothing, and when it comes to patrolling with you it’s a literal coin flip to see if I go home with burns on my body or not, when I first heard about you it was wondering why the console was a piece of burnt refuse.   _ Tonight _ ,” She emphasized that word by slamming a fist into her palm, “You were lucky.  Another night, you won’t be. Get it together, Eveline.”

 

“What the fuck do you want me to do, huh?” I snarled.  I felt the heat uncoil from my core and begin its journey up my body.  Right now, I let it, reveling in the heat and the fury it provided, “My power’s so  _ easy _ to lose control, so easy to just let it loose and have it  _ burn _ .  What do you want me to  _ do _ about it?  More therapy?  More training? They’ve already banned me from the gym because of the scorch marks, and I doubt there’s just a giant field where I can flail about and  _ not _ hurt someone.”

 

“Let me train you.”

 

Well, that took all the self-righteous and indignant wind out of all my previously high flying sails.  

 

“What?” I asked.

 

“Let me train you.” Heather repeated, “I know what it’s like to have a power that’s hard to control, unwieldy.  Angela doesn’t know shit, she’ll sit you in a room for hours and try to talk it out, and you’ll walk out feeling like you’re best friends and get ice cream, but it wouldn’t have  _ done _ anything.  Everyone else either doesn’t take this seriously enough, or they have their own things to do.  I don’t. I can train you.”

 

“Your power isn’t unwieldy.” I said, “You can at least use it to concuss people and knock them out, mine is  _ only _ good for harming.”

 

_ For burning things to the ground, for turning things to ash and dust. _

 

Heather laughed.  It was an ugly and pained sound.

 

“I used to be called  _ Shatterbird-lite _ by the media.  You think that’s because of my sunny disposition and stellar record?  My first arrest, I collapsed an entire bridge into the Charles. I got this control because I  _ worked _ at it, because I  _ taught _ myself how to use it without breaking everything around me.” She said.

 

“And why do you want to help me?  I thought I was a fuck up.” I grumbled, still holding on to that tiny vestige of anger.

 

“Because I’m selfish.  Because I like going home at the end of the day, preferably without burns and near death experiences.  It’s either me or they ship you off to a quarantine zone somewhere when you finally set something on fire that PR  _ can’t _ fix.  Take it or leave it, Eveline.” Heather said, turning and walking out the room.

 

\---

 

“This is absolutely awful.” I grunted, jabbing my crutches onto the street and testing whether or not it would slip.  We were well into November now, almost December, and that meant this entire godforsaken city was covered in ice. 

 

“Well maybe next time you’ll think twice before fighting  _ two _ supervillains  _ and _ a group of mooks.” Polly huffed, a hand on my shoulder to steady me in case I fell.  

 

“For the last time,  _ they _ attacked  _ us _ , we didn’t go out specifically looking for them.  It was a routine patrol, Polly.” I grunted, finally managing to reach the truck and heave myself inside.  Polly dropped my backpack between us as she pulled herself onto the driver’s side and started the truck. I pulled the grey beanie on my head off as the cab began to warm up and massaged the cast on my leg.  The medic on call had cleared me the day after the fight, stating that I just needed to be careful not to stress it too much and to change the bandages every day, so for now, I would be on crutches until the first week of December.  

 

Actually getting into the school building was also a pain.  The building itself hadn’t been renovated since it was built, which was evident from the brass radiators and the fact that multiple classrooms had their desks built directly into the ground.  This also meant that doorways, hallways, and the general everything was built much more narrow and left me less room to navigate. 

 

“Woah, wild weekend?” Jake said when he spotted me trying to push my books into my locker.  I glared at him. How could he possibly be warm in only a T-shirt and a pair of jeans?

 

“Har har.” I grunted, trying to balance on my good leg and pull out my chemistry textbook.  I pulled too hard and it fell onto the floor. Jake picked it up and gestured to offer to put it in my bag, so I turned around to let him.

 

“No, just a stupid work accident.” I explained, “I, uhh, tripped.”

 

“Work?  You already found a job barely a month after moving here?” Jake whistled, “I’m jealous.”

 

“It’s because my sister works in the PRT, I got in the easy way.  I kinda intern there.” I lied smoothly. We began to make our way to our first class, with me still cursing the existence of my crutches.  

 

“Ah, I see, nepotism, the downfall of the hard American worker.” Jake joked.  He pressed the button on the school’s ancient elevator.

 

“I mean, it’s not like I have a high paying position or anything.” I said, lying through my teeth.  My trust fund was already leaps and bounds beyond my fellow Wards, due to the supposed ‘signing bonus’, and the fact that Polly had wrangled a special deal in terms of my status as a Ward.  How the PRT didn’t fire her because of it, I didn’t know, “I’m kinda like an office intern? Filing papers.”

 

“Uh huh.  What kind of paper filing leads to a broken leg?” He asked.

 

“The government classified kind.” I tried to snark back.  A rickety clacking signalled the arrival of the elevator and we stepped in.

 

“The government lets interns handle classified documents?” He asked, giving me a disbelieving look.

 

“Oh, um, no?  Not really. I mean, it’s mostly getting coffee for more important people and stuff.  I was just joking about the classified thing. I got hurt because I was helping out some of the troopers.” I said, hurriedly attempting damage control.

 

“...With their coffee?”

 

“Um, uh, no, not really.  It was with a perp. I mean.  I was filing a perp. ‘S papers.  A perp’s papers. I filed them.”

 

Thankfully I was saved from the spiralling pit of embarrassment that was this conversation as the elevators slowly shuttered themselves open, revealing the third floor hallway.  I quickly launched myself forward with my crutches, making a beeline to my first class. 

 

“You still haven’t told me how you hurt your leg!” Jake called as he hurried to catch up. 


	8. Interlude 1

Ashley flicked another smoldering cigarette butt off the roof and dug out a fresh one to light, turning away from the wind.  It took a few tries with the cheap plastic lighter, but eventually the flame caught, and she took a deep drag, blowing the smoke out over the city.

 

From the roof of the PRT building, Boston was a beautiful skyline, from here you didn’t see the snow, the dirt, the gangs.  Up here, you took in the city as a whole, a city filled with rich history and resilient people, not the gritty details and ugly minutia of the day to day.  Ashley took another drag from her cigarette and she sighed.

 

Then the roof access door clanged open, completely ruining her picturesque noir moment.  

 

Blackout stumbled out onto the roof access, still kitted out in his armor, a towering silhouette of black and yellow.  His facemask was retracted, and he paused for a moment in the doorway, blinking against the sudden intake of fresh air.  The Tinker looked tired beyond measure, haggard and disheveled, eyes gazing at nothing and his facial hair unkempt. He spotted Ashley standing by the ledge and walked over.  Ashley offered him her cigarette. He took it and put it to his mouth, the end glowed a bright orange in the night as he took a drag.

 

“How are they?” Ashley asked, lighting another cigarette.  The pack was almost empty, it’d been a long night.

 

“They’re fine.  Bastion just has a concussion, Dovetail will need a few stitches in her side.  The medics are checking them over with the scanner to make sure they caught everything, but they should be cleared by morning.” Blackout responded.  

 

“That’s good then.” Ashley said.  The pair stood in silence as they took the time to finish their smokes.

 

“So.” Ashley began, flicking another butt off the roof, “How are we responding to this?  The PRT is at least going to let people know Butcher is in town, right?

 

Blackout nodded in affirmation, “Press release is going out tomorrow first thing, general warning about staying away from the Teeth’s stomping grounds.  Thankfully this will probably cover the Roslindale story.”

 

Ashley made a noise of disgust, “Don’t phrase it like that.  It sounds so ugly when you say it like that. Like there’s a stratus of importance.”

 

“It’s the truth.” Blackout shrugged.  He began tapping a keyboard on his armor.  Ashley snorted. Tinkers. Even when on break, they found ways to do more work.

 

“The Butcher is a bigger story, the news will like focusing on it more, that gives us a lot of room to run damage control with the Wards’ misstep from tonight.”

 

“With  _ a _ Ward’s misstep.” Ashley said.  

 

“They were both on patrol, it technically falls under both their faults.” Blackout said, shrugging.

 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

 

“It’s not entirely her fault, her power’s-”

 

“I  _ know _ it’s because of her power, but I also know the goddamn media wolves won’t care about that.  You remember what they did to Cacophony.” Ashley hissed. She flicked her last butt over the side of the building and lifted herself into a standing position with her power while rubbing her shoulders to ward off the chilly night.  She was going to Image  _ tomorrow _ and having another talk about this costume.  Winter weave her frozen  _ ass _ .

 

“This is different.” Blackout said.

 

“Is it?  Is it really?  Does it  _ sound _ different, Sam?  Let’s lay it out. Bright young Ward debuts to the city, she has a difficult time with her powers, and ends up causing a disaster that PR has to sweep under a rug, but not before they’re burned an effigy over the fact.  End result; names are tarnished, reputations are raked over coals. Leadership positions are passed over. Their names are practically interchangeable once you print it.” 

 

“It’s different because Cacophony didn’t blow the leg off an Endbringer.” Blackout responded, “You didn’t see what happened in Tucson, Lance, I was there, it was the rallying moment of the fight.  It’s because of her we turned it around. The public might not know the details, but enough has leaked that they can connect the power, the name, and the dates. That’s not a detail they’ll forget soon.”

 

Ashley set herself back onto the rooftop.  She gestured to Blackout and the two began to walk back inside, the Tinker’s armor clanking all the way.  Their masks went on before they stepped inside, Ashley simply fixed hers to her eyes, while Blackout's full faceplate slid down from his helmet.

 

“That goodwill won’t last forever.” Ashley sighed as the roof access door shut, “And I’m more worried that once it does wear off, and people start seeing things like Roslindale and how...accident prone she is, they’ll start smearing her, and it’s not like they’re lacking reasons and excuses to do so.”

 

The stairs down from the roof hatch were narrow, they were constructed when the building first went up, before the PRT moved in.  The dirt grey concrete and rusted red railings were a stark contrast to the brightly lit and colored interior of the actual offices.  Ashley cheated down the stairs, hovering down with her power rather than actually walking. 

 

“You’re treating her like she’s a fragile object, not like a person.” Blackout objected, taking a much slower and measured walk down the steps.  Ashley crossed her arms while waiting at the base.

 

“I think I’m treating her as fairly as I can.  She  _ is _ fragile, you don’t trigger while facing down an Endbringer and  _ not _ come out fragile.” Ashley paused at the foot of the stairs, contemplating her next words, “She should've gone to a Triumvirate city.  We aren't equipped to train her, not here, why didn’t they take her?”

 

“I don’t know, I just work here.” Blackout shrugged.  Ashley snorted.

 

It was quiet this late at night, most of the office workers having already left.  The elevator was called, and the two descended, exiting on the lobby level. The only people on the ground floor was the night shift security team, and a young woman sitting on a bench in the atrium with a PRT name tag on her suit jacket and a briefcase in her hands.  She leapt up when the elevator doors opened.

 

“Ev!  I-oh. Umm.  Hi. You’re not...” 

 

Ashley winced as the woman ran through the gamut of emotions in a few short sentences.  She recognized her, almost a spitting image of the troublesome Ward they was just discussing, give or take a few lines on their faces, an angle where another had a curve.  Shorter hair. Rounder eyes.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, um.  Hi. Pauline Everton, PRT Intelligence.  You’re, uh, Golden Lance and Blackout.” She said.  Ashley watched as the woman fidgeted, obviously deliberating whether or not to approach.  The heroine solved the dilemma by approaching and offering a gloved hand for her to shake.  

 

“I, um, I didn’t expect the Protectorate to be here.” Pauline said, shaking the proffered hand.  

 

“We were just stopping by to check up on the Wards.” Ashley responded.  Pauline’s face lit up at the mention of the junior heroes.

 

“Oh, um, have you seen-” She began.

 

“You sister is fine.” Ashley assured her, “Right now, she needs rest, so we probably can’t let you see her, but I promise you, she is not hurt.”

 

Pauline sighed in relief, her entire body deflating as the pent up stress of the last several hours evaporated from her body.

 

“Oh, thank god, so is she here?  Do you know where she is? What happened?  There was an emergency, and then I heard about a fire in Roslindale, and something about Wards being injured...” Pauline trailed off, unsure of what more to say.  Ashley took her by the arm and guided her to the bench, sitting her down. 

 

“I’m sorry, but there are strict protocols in place for events like this.” She said gently, trying to soothe the agent, “No one right now can get you access to the Ward’s quarters, but I promise you that first thing tomorrow I’ll talk to the Director and you’ll be able to see her, okay?”  

 

Pauline rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear her thoughts and nodded, “Yeah.  Yeah, okay. I’ll just-I’ll uh, go home and, uh. Come in to work tomorrow, I guess.  Thank you, Miss Lance.”

 

Ashley watched as Pauline walked out onto the street a little dazedly before climbing into a rusted teal pickup truck parked out near the front door and drove off.  

 

“Well, at least we know if public opinion does turn, she’ll have someone to help her through it.” Blackout said.  Ashley nodded her agreement.

 

“Wish all Wards’ families were like that, would save us the entire therapy budget.” She muttered.  Blackout chuckled. 

 

The two of them stepped outside, the air was crisp and clear, and most of the streets were empty, save for a few late workers and the occasional taxi.  Ashley lifted herself into the air, a shining golden corona bathing her body.

 

“Hey, Blackout.” She called to the Tinker, who was strapping himself into a hovering black and yellow bike.  Ashley knew that despite its bulky appearance, it was capable of keeping up with some Movers.  _ Some. _

 

“Yeah?” He called back, adjusting his helmet and running last minute system diagnostics.

 

“Nice night out.  Clear skies, not a speck of snow or rain.” Ashley stated.

 

“Sure is.” Blackout mumbled, typing in a final security sequence.  His bike hummed to life, a high pitched whining and a glowing blue shine near its exhaust that signalled its readiness.  Ashley began to stretch.

 

“Race you back to headquarters for a pack?” Ashley said.  She shook the empty box with a cheeky grin on her face.

 

There were no words, just Blackout revving his bike as hard as he could, before speeding off down the street.  Ashley counted out a full twenty seconds, before a bright golden glow consumed her body, and she zipped off into the air herself.

 

\--

 

Jeon Yun was a busy, tired woman.  She had been for years at this point, the job of a PRT Deputy Director was often an exhausting and thankless one.  The computer screen in front of her blurred momentarily, and she blinked blearily, taking a sip of coffee out of her mug in an attempt to refocus on the text on screen.  She set the cup back on its coaster with a clatter and took a deep breath, before typing out a new email. This one would be to the Herald, a set of instructions detailing the press release of the Butcher’s arrival to the public in the morning, and a strongly worded opinion about the Roslindale story that was developing.  Specifically worded to press upon them how  _ damaging _ the story would be to the PRT if it was reported.

 

Usually she’d have an intern deal with this, but the situation broke out  _ tonight _ , and Image wasn’t willing to risk the story going to print for tomorrow morning, so here she was, firing off endless emails to the PRT’s legions of press relations.  A notification popped up in the corner of her screen, apparently it was 1 AM. She’d been working for an extra seven hours.

 

With a hum, her computer shut itself down, forcing her to reach under her desk and pull out a dusty black laptop to resume her furious emailing.  The infernal device took ages to boot up, and Jeon was reduced to sipping angrily at her coffee. This was the result one of those new policies implemented after a government watchdog group declared the PRT to be overworking its employees, and their proposed solution was to shut down specific systems or computers if they were detected to be in use for too long.  Jeon didn’t know what the hell Armstrong was thinking when he agreed to it, the only thing it managed to do was make her job even harder than it already was, and it sure as hell has not cut down on her workload. 

 

The laptop finally signalled her of its usability by the prompting login screen.  Jeon hurriedly entered in her credentials, then immediately growled in frustration as the laptop began to update its operating system.  She slapped the desk and got up, taking her mug with her. May as well go get a fresh cup of coffee and clear her head while this worthless brick of plastic and silicon did its thing.  

 

The PRT cafeteria was barren, with only the odd trooper here and there taking a late dinner, or a desk jockey filling up on coffee like her.  Jeon parked herself next to the counter with the row of percolators bubbling away, looking for one lit with a green light. The PRT coffee was, objectively, dogshit; a mantra that was oft-repeated in its halls.  To Jeon, it was coffee. Pour enough cream and sugar in it, and you would never know the difference.

 

The doors to the cafeteria opened noisily, and Jeon turned to see Palindrome walk in with Remedial trailing behind her.  The pair quickly made their way over to the same counter where Jeon was standing by, and Palindrome quickly began pouring a cup of coffee for herself while Remedial pulled a can of energy drink from one of the fridges nearby.  Jeon watched as the two girls began to drink their respective caffeine boosters.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.  It’s late, go home.” Jeon tried to say sternly, but exhaustion overtook her and the sentence turned into a yawn by the end.  Remedial snorted and reached for another can, having already finished her first. Jeon grimaced internally. Someone so young shouldn’t be drinking those like that.

 

“Can’t, Dovetail’s going under soon, they want me on standby in case the surgery suite breaks down.  Which it shouldn’t, but better safe than sorry.” Remedial said listlessly, staring at the second blue and silver can in her hands.  Jeon shook her head and tutted. The poor girl looked exhausted.

 

“Also can’t.” Palindrome added, yawning and stretching, “Have to finish tonight’s report and check in with Cacophony and Sunspot again, make sure they’re okay.”

 

Jeon sighed, “No.  Both of you, go home.  Or to bed. The report can wait, I’ll talk to the Director about it tomorrow.  You too, Remedial, if the suite  _ somehow _ fails, we’ll move Dovetail to a hospital.  The injuries aren’t life threatening anyways, you don’t need to be here.”

 

“But-” Remedial began.

 

“No buts, consider it an order if you need to.  Go home, get some rest. Otherwise I’ll contact the Youth Guard about you being overworked.  I’ll even deal with the extra paperwork myself.” Jeon said wryly. The Wards shuddered.

 

“Ugh, please don't.  I’m going, I’m going.” Remedial murmured, standing and leaving the cafeteria.  

 

“And I mean to  _ bed _ , Remedial, not your lab.” Jeon called after her.  

 

“We should start calling you mom instead of ma’am.” Palindrome said, stirring in a few packets of sugar into her coffee.  Jeon turned to give her a look.

 

“You too, Palindrome.  Go get some sleep. Or go home, your mom called again and-”

 

“If my mother actually does care, she’d say it to my face.” Palindrome’s face quickly shifted, going from a tired smile to a scowl.  She stood up and downed her coffee in one go, “But if you’re pulling that card, I’m already gone. Good night, ma’am.”

 

Jeon sighed and waited until the cafeteria doors closed to make her own way back to her office.  It was a bit of a dirty trick, what she did, but in the end it got the job done. The Wards were children, they shouldn’t still be in costume and forcing themselves to stay awake, even during a crisis.  

 

The laptop had finally finished updating by the time Jeon made her way back to her office, allowing the Deputy Director to access an email service again.  She moused over her inbox out of habit. There was a new email there, marked ‘urgent’ by one of the many email screening programs. Odd. Who was up emailing her this late?  

 

Jeon clicked it, waiting in annoyance again as the aging laptop took ages to load up the message.  Eventually the browser buffered, revealing lines of text and a PRT insignia at its header. Jeon read through the message, intending to take care of it tomorrow.

 

No such luck.  The contents of the email made her swear and grab her phone, dialing furiously.

 

_ When it rains, it fucking pours _ . 

 

“Yun?” Armstrong’s voice was gravelly, deeper and hoarser than it usually was.  She must’ve woken him up, “This better be important.”

 

“It is, sir, I just got an email from one of the midwest Directors, and the contents are...concerning.”

 

“Concerning how.” Armstrong sighed.  Yun could practically see him rubbing his temple.  The mess with the Butcher and Roslindale was bad enough, but now this...

 

“A couple members of the McVeays clan have been spotted on the move, headed north, and they ran potential destinations through the think tank.” She took a breath, “Sir, I think the Fallen are coming to Boston.”


	9. 2.1

I reached out with my hand, finger pointed towards a series of dummies downrange.  These were old PRT trooper training dummies, riddled with bullet holes and slits where knives had been stabbed into them.  They were about to be recycled before Heather managed to reclaim them to use for our training sessions.

 

The swirling pool of heat in my core made itself known, and I let it uncoil, slowly and by degrees, feeling the tendrils of flame travel slowly up my body.  I directed it to my arms, feeling it coalesce and make the tips of my fingers glow a dull red-orange. I concentrated, letting the flames push out while forcing it into a smaller form.  A glowing dot of heat formed in front of me, and I felt the pressure build and build in my body, until finally it felt like my finger was going to snap clean off, and I let go.

 

A stream of fire leapt from my finger and flew across the range, striking the shoulder of one of the dummies cleanly, knocking it down.  I whooped, pumping my fist and jumping.

 

“Hah!  Nailed it!” I cried, turning to see Heather’s reaction.  She stared at me, impassive, from her vantage point on the bleachers, a thermos of coffee next to her.  She was in civilian clothes, a simple tank top and jeans, but still wearing that black leather jacket she used for her costume.  I’d learned that Angie and the PRT gets into monthly fights with her over it, over concerns about her secret identity, but she absolutely refused to take it off even when unmasked.  

 

“Again,” Heather commanded, and I groaned.  We’d been at this for  _ hours _ .

 

“Don’t whine,” she said. “You asked for my help.  This is me giving my help.”

 

With that she pulled out her phone and begin to tap at it, no longer focused on me.  I turned back to the line of dummies and raised my right hand again, readying another shot.  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, calling forth the fire again. The swirling on my arm was warm, almost familiar.  I could feel the power under my skin begin to lick its way towards the front of my hand and coalesce again like it did a minute ago.  I tried to envision what I did before, and forced the feeling to focus on a singular point in my vision. Slowly, I let it out, feeling the pressure build in my finger again, letting it build and-

 

A massive fireball consumed the air in front of me, and I was thrown back a good five feet, landing on my ass.  A blowback. I slapped the wooden floor in frustration.

 

“Dammit,” I swore.

 

“Again,” Heather commanded, not even looking up from her phone.  I bit my tongue and got up. 

 

The next hour passed in a blur.  Not the good kind of blur either, kind of blur you get when you settle into a chore and let the ebb and flow of the work carry you through the monotonous repetition.  It was the worst kind of blur. The kind that makes you remember every painful second of it while completely unaware of everything that was going on, like a particular boring class, or a meeting that nobody wanted to attend.  

 

In total, I tried to recreate my successful bolt about twenty times, but only two of my attempts actually went anywhere.  The first success was another attempt with my right hand, but it sadly flew far above my intended target, scorching a piece of masonry above it. 

 

“Again.”

 

The next dozen times were disasters, each either being a fireball that was too large for Heather’s exacting standards, or a blowback.  My butt became very well acquainted with the hard wooden flooring over the course of the hour, as did my nose with the smell of soot and singed stone.  The gym was silent with the exception of intermittent sounds of explosions, my grunts of annoyance and pain, and of course the word:

 

“Again.”

 

It was like a mantra, with every attempt and inevitable failure, the word would be uttered in the exact same cadence and tone.  I almost settled into a rhythm with it. Stand. Point. Feel the swelling of heat and warmth traveling down my arms. Fail. Hit the ground, and then, inevitably: 

 

“Again.”

 

After the hundred and seventeenth attempt I threw my hands up in frustration.  

 

“Okay!  I’m done!  This is impossible!” I shouted.  The glove of my costume was blackened from the soot and char that had accumulated on the floor.  My mask had been flung off in frustration at some point in the last half hour, and my hair was sticky with sweat.  Right now, I just wanted to shower and get some food, dammit.

 

“Not impossible, do it again,” came Heather’s monotone reply.

 

“It is!  I’ve tried!  I’ve tried over a hundred times now, in case you haven’t noticed!” I shouted in response.

 

“Try again,” Heather commanded.  

 

“Fuck.  You. This is ridiculous.  I thought you were doing this to help me,” I bristled, flipping her off.  Heather made her way down the bleachers to stand in front of me.

 

“Is it ridiculous?  Or are you just lazy?” She asked, crossing her arms.  God that stupid leather jacket looked ridiculous.

 

_ I don’t need this. _

 

“Fuck off, I’m done.  I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

“This is why none of the Wards take you seriously.”

 

I froze, hand on the door, “Excuse me?”

 

“It’s true.  You get frustrated easily, you give up easily, the rest of the team treat you with kid gloves, make sure they don’t push too far because then you’ll just throw a tantrum and burn everything.  They think you’re childish.” 

 

_ This  _ **_bitch_ ** _. _

 

I whirled around, teeth bared and snarling, “Well in case  _ you _ haven’t noticed, Heather, the rest of the team aren’t the biggest fans of you either.  Want to know what we call you while we’re out on patrol?” 

 

Heather shrugged, “I already know most of them.  Resting bitch face, Nine candidate, dark, angry, and bitchy, to name a few.  Not exactly the most original of insults. I’ve heard middle schoolers do better.” 

 

_ How did she- _

 

“I have a Thinker rating, Eveline.  Enhanced hearing. Comes with the sound powers thing.  Also Angela isn’t as quiet as she thinks she is.” I seethed as she tapped her ear and turned to stomp off again, but she put a hand on my shoulder and held me back.  I slapped her hand away.

 

“Tomorrow.  Eight AM. Be here,” she said.  I didn’t respond.

 

The shower was heavenly, the cold water helping to both cool me down and wash off the sweat and dirt that had accumulated over the past few hours of failure.  I towelled off and made my way to the cafeteria, ravenous. I had told Polly I was staying the weekend at the PRT, to kickstart Heather’s training regime, something I was very much regretting, I would kill to have a bowl of homemade soup right now.

 

The PRT cafeteria was thankfully devoid of life at this hour, with only one cashier working the till.  I quickly snagged a tuna salad sandwich and an apple and retreated to the Ward’s quarters, angrily gnawing at the fruit the whole way down.

 

_ I do not throw tantrums! _

 

The door to the common room opened, and I strode in, still angrily biting at the now core of the apple.  I walked into the kitchenette and took out a plate to set my sandwich on while opening a bag of potato chips lying around and added it to my meal.  Food acquired, I made my way to the couch and settled in. It was late, judging by the emptiness of the room, which meant everyone either went home, or was asleep.

 

I grabbed the remote and turned the television on, mindlessly flicking through channels while taking very forceful bites at my sandwich.  The bread was stale, and soggy, and there was too much mayonnaise. 

 

There was a sudden  _ pop _ , and a young boy popped into existence a few inches above the couch, falling onto the cushion, almost throwing my dinner onto the floor and causing me to shriek.  

 

“Hey Sunspot, whatcha up to?” Matt asked cheerily, brushing a few curls of light brown hair out of his eyes.  He was dressed in pajamas, a fuzzy white onesie that featured fox heads all over. I didn’t know if it was meant to be ironic or not.

 

“Jesus Christ in  _ heaven _ , Matt, what the-” I stopped myself from swearing, “ _ heck _ .  Don’t scare me like that.”

 

The boy gave me a grin that told me it was completely his intention to scare me like that, and reached down to my plate to steal a potato chip.  As well as the remote. A channel was quickly found, and soon my vision was filled with late night cape toons and my ears with cheery theme songs.  I didn’t know who the voice actor for Legend was, but by god somebody get him a radio station.

 

Matt popped in and out at random times disappearing and reappearing either with snacks and drinks filched from the kitchenette, or to grab knick knacks like his phone, and even to go to the bathroom.  Perks of being a Mover, I guess.

 

“Sho why ah you up so late?” He asked, a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.  He couldn’t have brought a bowl over to share, no, he had to teleport and take spoonfuls out of the carton every time, the jerk.

 

“It’s not that late.” I said, taking a look at the clock and almost jumping in surprise.  Wow, it was eleven PM. That means I was in that godforsaken gym with Heather for almost  _ seven hours _ .  Why did I even spend so much time in there?

 

“Okay, yeah, it’s kind of late.” I acquiesced, “Um.  I was doing some training with Heather in the gym. Missed dinner.  And also a few hours, apparently. So now I guess I’m here.” 

 

I popped the final bite of my sandwich into my mouth.

 

“Why’re you up so late?” I asked while chewing.  Matt shrugged.

 

“Couldn’t sleep.  Didn’t want to go home.  The usual.” He said, as though that answered it.  I couldn’t relate. We sat in silence for a few minutes.  A cartoon representation of Legend was currently blasting away at a giant Tinker robot while other members of the New York Protectorate cheered him on.  A giant robot arm crashed towards Legend, but he zipped around the attack in a flash of light and appeared next to the robot’s head, delivering a decisive blow, and capturing the villainous Tinker within.  

 

“Remember, kids, always brush your teeth, or else you’ll end up paying the price.” Legend announced.  They should give a raise to whoever was voicing him, they were spot on with that voice. A cheer went up from the crowd watching him, and credits began to play.  

 

Matt stood up and stretched, before popping back and forth between the sink and his seat to deposit his ice cream spoon.  A new episode was starting, and we were treated to a montage of Legend glowing red, green, and white as he flew across New York City.  Must be a Christmas special. Matt was humming along to the theme song as he popped back in front of the TV.

 

“Legend’s the best.” He proclaimed as the song ended and the episode began on a snowstorm raging in New York City.

 

“Yeah.  He’s really nice.  Met him once.” I agreed.

 

“You’ve  _ met _ him?” Matt’s voice was filled with wonder at this revelation, I turned to see him looking at me hungrily, “What was he like?  Did you get to see him in action? How fast could he fly? Did he draw stuff in the air with his lasers?”

 

“It was only for a minute or two.” I quickly said, staving off additional questions by putting my hands up, “I met him when me and my sister were at the New York PRT.  He was...nice.”

 

“I bet.  He’s always so nice in the interviews I’ve seen, they say he’s still like that even when out of costume.”

 

“How would they know?  They don’t know his civilian identity.” I asked.

 

“...I dunno, but I believe them.” Matt said defensively.  The cartoon Legend was flying his boyfriend somewhere. According to the subtitles, it was to the north pole to see Santa and help him rescue some of his helpers.  Cute.

 

“It’s just, I want to believe that, you know?  That he’s genuine and kind all around. He’s the kind of hero I want to be.  The kind of person I want to be.” Matt muttered, “I know it sounds childish, but it’s true.”

 

“Not childish, wish I could be like him too.” I murmured.  That was the goal, wasn’t it? To be able to control my powers.  To be able to do good. Help arrest the bad guys. Be a hero. That’s what I was  _ supposed _ to do.

 

Legend and his boyfriend were reading clues off a scrap of paper.  Apparently the helpers were taken by a nefarious Tinker. The same one that he arrested in the last episode, prompting Legend to get on the phone and call the prison, only to find out that the Tinker had escaped.  They shot off again into the air in a Christmas patterned bolt.

 

_ Wish my powers were flashy like that. _

 

“Hey, Matt?” I asked, hesitant, unsure of how to phrase my question, but what Heather had said in the gym was still gnawing at me. 

 

“Yeah?” He responded.  I fidgeted nervously. Did I really want to ask?  Did I want to know how the rest of the team really felt about me?  Would he even be honest with me? 

 

“...I’m gonna go to bed.  Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said, slipping towards the bedrooms and throwing myself on the bed.  

 

_ Coward _ .

 

I fell asleep almost instantly, not realizing how exhausted I was.

 

I woke up at seven the next morning, courtesy of an alarm set on my phone.  I almost didn’t get up, wanting to go back to sleep and go past eight AM, and tell Heather to stuff it when I saw her next.  After a brief internal struggle with my bladder, however, I heaved myself out of bed and took stock of my room, which was still pretty much barren, with only a few changes of clothes in the dresser that I’d moved there my first week.  I laid out a plain T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and made my way to the showers with a bucket of toiletries. 

 

There was only one other person in the common room when I poked my head in.  Weld was on the console, tapping away at one of the keyboards. I made my way to the dining table and began pouring myself a bowl of cereal.

 

“Morning.” I said, frowning at the boxes stacked on top of the fridge.  Really? We only had Cheerios and Fruity Pebbles? I grabbed one of the boxes at random and set about finding both a clean spoon and some semblance of fruit for my breakfast.  

 

“Morning.” Weld called back.  I cleaned Matt’s ice-cream stained spoon from last night and dried it with a paper towel, depositing it next to my bowl.  My quest for fresh fruits was rather lackluster, as it resulted in a fig newton bar. I put it back in the cupboard.

 

“Do we seriously not keep any fruit down here?” I grumbled, sitting down and spooning cereal into my mouth.  

 

“Hmm?  Dunno, not something I really notice.  I don’t eat.” Weld shrugged. I sighed, and continued my breakfast.  I was almost done with my bowl of cereal when Weld began talking again.

 

“Hey, just a heads up, I’m swapping shifts with Caleb for tomorrow’s patrol, just logged it into the system.” He said.

 

“Okay, cool.  Something come up for him?” I asked.

 

“No, he’s just afraid that with the Roslindale thing tha-” There was an audible clang as Weld snapped his mouth shut.  He winced and looked away guiltily.

 

Oh.

 

“Oh.” I said.  The bowl went upside down on the drying rack and I towelled off the spoon.  

 

Weld tried to stammer a few excuses and apologies, but I barely heard him, instead finishing up my cleaning and then moving to my room.  With a tug, my costume came off its hook on the back of my door. The soot wasn’t completely washed off from last night, and I heard the fabric crack a little as I flexed my fingers.

 

I waited at the elevator doors.  My stomach was bubbling. My arms were warm.  The gym was only a few floors up, thankfully, so the ride was short.  A sliver of smoke crept up from the carpet as I set foot on it, and I reined my power back.

 

_ Damn her. _

 

The gym door slammed open.  Heather was already inside, positioning the training dummies so that they were on the very opposite end of the gym.  I didn’t wait for her to get out of the way, instead reaching out with my hands, my fingers already ablaze. A perfect thin stream of fire arced from my hands, landing solidly in one of the dummy’s chest and knocking it over.  I raised my other hand, letting loose a bolt of lightning that skittered over the floor, missing my intended target. 

 

“You’re early.” Heather said.  I ignored her, instead beginning to rain bolts of fire down the range in a frenzy as she calmly made her way to the bleachers, furiously pumping my arms.  The flames swirled inside of me, and I basked in its warmth, letting it fuel my rampage. Most of the barrage missed, instead slamming into the stone wall behind them, chipping away at the bricks.  Fine. Whatever. They can take the repair costs out of my paycheck, I didn’t give a damn. Eventually one of my frantic attacks connected, knocking over a second dummy in a blazing roar, and I stopped.  A pile of melted Tinkertech plastic swamped the small metal range that Heather had set up, and dull embers flickered here and there. Two dummies still stood, defiant at my onslaught. The janitors were going to kill us.

 

Heather took a drink from her thermos.

 

“Again.”


	10. 2.2

It was torturous.  

 

The lights in the room were obnoxiously intense, a veritable wave of bright flashes and strobe that stung my eyes, as was the music blasting over the speakers arrayed in front me, turned to a volume that could rival Cacophony at her loudest.  My legs felt like liquid, and my lungs were desperately searching for air. I reached out with a jelly-like hand to steady myself as I tried to sit myself down on a bench, completely spent and already forfeited as a series of neon arrows scrolled across the screen above me.

 

“Hah!” Polly cried, equally out of breath, and pumping her fist, “I am  _ still _ the best DDR player between us!”

 

I ignored her, instead heading back to our table and pawing for a glass of water, taking desperate sips out of the red straw, the liquid tasting like sweet ambrosia to my parched mouth.  Polly flopped down across from me and grabbed her own glass. We were in an arcade, one that was situated across the road from a beach, and surprisingly busy despite it being the middle of December.  A snowstorm had come by a few weeks ago, causing the windows to be frosted, partially covered in white slush and the staff had framed them with blinking Christmas lights. I finished my water and reached for the pitcher on our table, pouring a second glass.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.” I said, “Still beat you at everything else today.”

 

“DDR is the only important game here,” Polly smirked and began leafing through the menus that had been deposited on our table.  I joined her, looking over my options for dinner. The menu was, surprisingly both large and diverse for an arcade/restaurant almost half an hour out of the city, I spotted everything ranging from pizza to fresh seafood.

 

“How’d you even find this place?  It’s nice.” I asked. I ran a finger down the menu, trying to pick out what I wanted.  I got lost a third of the way down the menu and decided to randomly jab at sections instead.

 

“Sam from the office told me.  Said he brought his siblings here a lot when they were younger and had time, it’s a bit of a hidden gem, according to him.” She explained, waving to catch the attention of a waiter, “Hi, can I get a bowl of guacamole, and two Cokes, please?”

 

He scribbled down our order and gave us a nod.  Polly turned and took a drink from her glass.

 

“Sooooooo.” She said, continuing her perusal of the menu, “How’s your work been?”

 

I snorted.  Epitome of subtlety, this one.

 

“It’s been going,” I responded, still going through the placard of jumbled foodstuffs.  Ooh, fried seafood platter, that sounded nice, “Heather’s been helping me with the training, and we’re on...reduced shifts now because of the Teeth, so most nights we’re just kinda on call.”

 

“That’s good, that’s good.” Polly murmured.  A finger hovered between two items on the menu, and I could see her playing eeny meeny in her head.

 

“How about you?” I asked, closing the menu.  Yeah. Definitely gonna go with that seafood platter.  I might even eat it all myself, after two hours of DDR.  Wards training’s got nothing on the pad. My glass of water was almost empty again, so I topped it off, taking a huge gulp while scanning the rest of the arcade/restaurant.

 

I could spot families scattered here and there, alongside couples, and teenagers.  They were all enjoying themselves amongst the arrays of arcade machines and the plates of steaming food.  A large Christmas tree dominated the center of the establishment, festooned with bandoliers of bright lights and glittering streamers spiralling around its coniferous boughs.  A giant golden star hung at the top, and fake wrapped presents were littered all along its base. 

 

“Same, nothing new or exciting, we’ve been working on the Dorchester murders, managed to deduce it’s definitely a cape causing them, but still nothing concrete.  We tried getting a few Watchdog capes to take a look, but apparently we’re low priority,” Polly tapped her finger on the menu, giving a satisfied nod. Must’ve made a decision with her meal.  The menu was closed and put aside as our waiter returned with our drinks and appetizer. Our meals were ordered and Polly turned to look at me, head tilted and eyebrows raised in amusement.

 

“What?” I questioned. 

 

“An entire platter?  That thing serves three, Ev.” She said.

 

“So?  I’m hungry.  If I don’t finish it, I’ll bring it back for the War-...My co-workers.” I managed to catch myself before blurting out the word ‘Wards’.  Not that anyone in our general vicinity would be able to hear us over the music and noise of the other patrons, but it was good practice to do so in public, to minimize the chance of outing myself.

 

“Speaking of them, how are your co-workers?  Everything okay?” My sister asked. My mouth twisted in contemplation.  Was everything okay? The training with Heather was...working, much as I was loathe to admit it.  I was getting more accurate, getting more control over my flames. Slowly, by degrees. I hadn’t set anything on fire by accident in the last week or so, which was definitely an improvement.  Most days I could even ignore her attitude.

 

On the other hand, Caleb still tried to schedule his patrols around mine.  He never stated that was what he was doing outright, but from the way he avoided me even in the Ward’s quarters and the last few weeks of patrols, it was pretty evident.  That stung. 

 

“Fine, I guess.  We’re planning on doing an office Christmas party, week after Christmas.  Yun signed off on it, so everyone can attend. Angie was pretty excited, so she made us decorate the entire place last night.  I sent you pics.” 

 

Last night, Angie had been the definition of overboard.  Bins upon bins of paper snowflakes, Santas, laurels, streamers, and yards upon yards of Christmas lights were wheeled in from an unknown source, and she had beset upon us the ‘noble goal of turning this miserable turntable into a winter wonderland fit for Santa’s elves’.  In the end it fell down to me, her, Weld, and Matt doing most of the decorating; Hunch was on console, Caroline was in her lab, and both Heather and Caleb were on patrol. 

 

“You did,” Polly acknowledged, “The Eidolon Santa was a nice touch.”

 

“Went right above the console, judging whoever is on duty with his creepy glowing mask and sack of powers.  Alexandria is over the kitchen, protecting the cookies, and Legend guards the showers, like a true gentleman,” I added.  Polly laughed. 

 

Our food arrived, and it turned out that Polly was right, I definitely wasn’t finishing this.  A veritable mountain of fried calamari, clam bellies, and cod fillets towered over a base of french fries was set in front of me, still steaming and wafting with the aroma of fried batter.  Two large tubs of tartar sauce and ketchup came along with it, almost threatening to spill onto the table. Polly eyed my mountain of food and quickly speared a piece of fish with her fork.

 

“Look forward to seeing how you’re going to finish this.  I’ve done my part.” She grinned, popping it in her mouth. I stuck my tongue out at her, and picked up my own fork, ready to tackle this monstrosity of grease and cholesterol.

 

I was barely three bites in when both of our phones rang.  Me and Polly both agreed that our respective jobs sometimes required odd hours, therefore, the old family policy of no phones at meals was abolished by executive decision, instead being relaxed to a verbal agreement they were only to be used for emergencies.  The black rectangle was still buzzing incessantly. I picked it up, turning it over to see a message scrolling across the screen in large, red text. 

 

EB INBOUND, REPORT TO BASE IMMEDIATELY FOR STANDBY.

 

What?

 

_ What? _

 

An Endbringer?  Now? Where was it hitting?  Which one was it? For Christ’s sake it was four days before Christmas, why  _ now _ ?  My breath hitched.  My vision started to blur.  Would I go? Do I have to go?  I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to see all of that again, the destruction and the chaos, I-

 

“Ev.” 

 

My eyes shot up.  Polly was looking at me worriedly, also clutching her phone.  Did she get the same message? Probably. The PRT would have to be on standby as well.  Would she tell me I had to go? 

 

“I-I don’t-” 

 

“You’re not going.” Polly said quietly, taking a quick look around.  She waved a waiter over and handed him her credit card, “We’ll also be taking our food to go, please.”

 

As soon as the waiter came back with a receipt and our takeout boxes, she quickly ushered me out to the car and sat me down next to her on a freezing bench facing the ocean.  I stared at the waves crashing against the beach, hugging myself tight, my mind reeling.

 

_ I don’t want to go but I have to go I have to help but I’m scared I don’t want to go- _

 

“Ev, Ev, listen to me, okay?  You’re not going, you won’t have to.” Polly shook me gently and leaned in to look me in the eyes and cupping my cheek.

 

“I-I need to though, don’t I?  I mean. I can hurt them, so I have to, I have to go and help, right?” 

 

_ I don’t want to go but I need to help I can help but I don’t want to go- _

 

“Like hell you do.” Polly said.  She lead me slowly to the car, “You need parental consent as a Ward to go into an Endbringer fight, and they’ll have to pry mine from my cold dead hands.  They probably just want you there in case something ugly breaks out in the city during an attack.”

 

“There won’t be, the unwritten rules.” I whispered, not really paying attention to her, I was still terrified at the idea of being sent  _ into _ the path of an Endbringer.  My mind was sprinting a mile a minute, a myriad scenarios unfolding in its eye; devastated roads and smoking ruins of buildings that stretched to the horizon, the keening wail of the siren that drowned out all other noises, the ever present screaming and yelling of thousands, injured or worse, and of course, a monster, tall, dark, and unstoppable, marching forward despite any attempts to halt it.  I shut my eyes.

 

“Ev, listen to me, okay?  They’re not sending you to that fight.  I don’t care what they say, you’re  _ not going _ .” Polly tried to reassure me.  The truck started, and Polly peeled out onto the quiet road.

 

It was already dark by the time we got to the PRT building.  It was a bustling hive of activity, with troopers, interns, and everyone else in between hurrying back and forth across the lobby.  A large sign out the doors informed the public that there would be no more tours today, and the gift shop was closed. Polly and I got our IDs scanned on the way in, and she gave me a quick hug while making me promise that she will intervene if they tried to send me into the fight.

 

“I don’t give a shit if they fire me, I’ll personally punch Armstrong in the dick if he tries.” She said in an attempt to lighten my mood.  She pulled me into a tight hug and I nodded numbly into her shoulder before walking off to the elevator. I slowly made my way down to the Ward’s quarters, a sick tension building in my gut.  I let the retina scanner scan my eye, and the doors slid open.

 

The Wards were assembled, everyone in their costumes, Angie and Hunch were talking to each other on the console while Heather was pacing back and forth behind them.  Matt, Caleb, and Weld were playing a video game on the TV. Caroline sat by herself, fiddling with a tablet on the kitchen table. What was wrong with them? They seemed so relaxed.  

 

“Hey, Eveline!” Angie waved cheerily from the console.  I walked in hesitantly. 

 

“Hey,” I said, nervously scratching my arm, “So...when are we going?”

 

“Going?  Going where?” Angie turned to look at me, puzzled.

 

“You know, the Endbringer fight.  Are we going by teleporter? Plane?” I looked down at my feet.

 

_ How are we going to be sent into hell? _

 

“Eveline...you’re joking, right?”

 

I looked up.  All of them minus the three boys near the TV were staring at me, varying between expressions of incredulity, exasperation, and humor.

 

“What?” I asked.

 

“First of all.  It’s not in Boston, so most of us aren’t even cleared to go fight it,” Angie began.  She walked up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder, “Second of all, it’s the smurf, so  _ none _ of us are okayed to fight it, you need like...a dozen forms from therapy saying that you won’t snap and then a dozen other forms saying that you’ll  _ totally _ be okay with being quarantined and strapped into a bed if you stay in the fight too long.  Most of the Protectorate left about ten minutes ago, we’re just here to hold down the fort and make sure the city doesn’t burn.”

 

There was a pause before she winced at her choice of words, “I mean...descend into the fiery pits of anarchy?”

 

“Angie, how did you make that  _ worse _ than what you said initially?” Hunch groaned from his seat.

 

“What?  What did I-oh!  Shit. Ev, I didn’t it like that.  It was just a, uh, a metaphor! Yeah.  Metaphor. Not meant to be anything about you nor your powers, which are very lovely, by the way, and-”

 

Angela stopped talking as Hunch walked over and put a hand over her mouth, “Angela, please stop talking.”

 

It was at this point I broke down, cackling hysterically; my fears and stress over the last half hour evaporating away as I realized that I was not about to be shoved into a fight with a force of nature.  I doubled over, holding my stomach and struggled to make my way into the common room and find myself in a chair to collapse into, still giggling and shaking in relief.

 

_ Oh thank god.  Thank god thank god thank god. _

 

“I think you broke her.” Matt called from his seat by the TV.

 

“No, no I’m fine.” I wheezed.  A stitch was growing in my side from the laughter, “Ha...so.  So, just to be clear, we’re  _ not _ being sent in?”

 

“Of course not.” Angie snorted, “You can’t pay me enough to even run S&R against the Ziz, not in the market to get my brain remodelled.”

 

“You should, certainly couldn’t hurt your current IQ,” Matt piped up from his seat.  Angie glared at him, and he instantly popped back five feet, landing behind the couch with a dull thump, “Ow!  What was that for?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I think you just got a little too excited over your video game over there, you shouldn’t be messing around with your powers like that,” Angie said sweetly, returning to her seat by the console.  Hunch, demonstrating wisdom far beyond his years, sighed in resignation and pulled the console headset back over his ears, turning away from us.

 

“This department, I swear, they’ll allow anything, even child abuse,” Matt called, popping back to his chair and collecting his controller.

 

“Doesn’t count when the child’s a dickhead, Youth Guard said so,” Angie called back.  Matt flipped her off. Angie ignored him, instead heading to the kitchenette and grabbing a can of soda out of the fridge, bringing it over to me and sitting it down in front of my still out of breath self.  She put her hands on her hips and shook her head in exasperation.

 

“You really thought that we were going to get sent in?” She asked.  I had recovered enough to grab the soda and pop the tab, so I took a sip before I answered her.  Fizzy sugar water had never tasted so good. 

 

“Yeah?  I mean, I guess if I thought about it I would’ve realized it’s ridiculous, just based on the rulebook, but it’s just-I just thought that they would ask me to go, because I can hurt one of them, you know?” I explained.  I cast my eyes down to the bright green can in my hands and swirled the soda around a little, feeling a little embarrassed now, “I guess it was kinda silly.” 

 

Angie shrugged, “Little bit.  Wanna go take over the TV? We could go find a campy movie or something.  Get your mind off the fight.”

 

I nodded, “Yes, please.”


	11. 2.3

I dove to the side as the entire wall to my left twisted together and stretched forward, oozing past like melted putty. My dive was tucked into a roll, and I recovered on my feet next to the rest of my team. 

 

“Too close. Too damn close,” Palindrome muttered, helping me catch my balance as the wall slowly returned to normal. We bunched in closer, scanning for the next attack. The arena that we were using was large. Like, the size of two football fields large. There were an assortment of fake buildings and obstacles, arranged to emulate a city block. We were currently bunched up close together, acting as a group of villains holding a hostage, while a different team of Wards were on the offense, trying to rescue said hostage. We had to either manage to secure the hostage by leaving the arena with it, or eliminate the attacking Wards by tagging them with Tinkertech markers. Similarly, the other team won by taking the hostage from us, and then leaving the arena, or by eliminating us. Basically it was one big game of capture the flag, except with superpowers and government funding. Today, the attacking team were the Brockton Bay Wards. 

 

“You know, we should’ve just taken the L against New York, that way, we could be having pizza right now instead of dodging  _ this _ crap,” Reynard said as the floor in front of him rose and twisted every which way in an effort to cut him off. He popped backwards with the hostage dummy and we reformed out perimeter to deal with the extrusion.

 

“Shut up,” Palindrome said, pushing Hunch back as one of the faux buildings behind us began to deform into a large spiked bramble of plaster and stone, “We’ve lost at finals the last two years, I want a  _ win  _ before I graduate, goddammit.” Cacophony grunted in agreement.

 

“We need to move,” Hunch interrupted, grabbing Reynard’s shoulder and pointing behind us. We didn’t wait for an explanation, Reynard popped backwards and the rest of us began to retreat as a series of lasers tore the malformed terrain in front of us to shreds. We pushed our way into a fake office building; well, it was an office building on the outside. The inside was devoid of any kind of furniture or accoutrements, just four walls and a door. We circled around the dummy and tried to catch our breath.

 

“That Shaker on their team is a menace,” Heavyset growled, moving to secure the door by bracing himself against it. Weld joined him and the rest of us scattered into a loose perimeter. Some of us sat down to rest while others stayed close to the door in case they tried to force their way in. 

 

Palindrome began to pace around the room.

 

“Okay, plans, people, ideas. I’m open to them. We’re getting boxed in. How do we make sure that doesn’t happen?” She asked.

 

“We could throw the match and go home,” Reynard called from the back of the room.

 

“Say that one more time you’re getting three week’s worth of shit patrols, I swear to god, Reynard,” Palindrome snapped back. Reynard folded his arms and sat down with a huff. 

 

Cacophony spoke up, “We should split up, Reynard and Hunch grabs the hostage and makes a break for the exit, rest of us try to hold them here as a distraction.”

 

Palindrome shook her head, “Won’t work, they have two fliers, and we’ll be straining Reynard every time he hops if we give him the hostage and Hunch. If they catch them, we’d be shit out of luck trying to reinforce.”

 

“Take them head on? We outclass them in strength, I think,” Remedial suggested. 

 

“So did Philly, and they got wiped in under twenty minutes, so let’s not underestimate these guys. Hunch, what do you got for me?”

 

“Right now we should be fine here, but the longer we stay the worse it’ll get, I think, not too sure, getting a headache,” Hunch said. He was rubbing his forehead with a gnarled hand and his eyes were shut tight. I walked over and sat on the floor next to him.

 

“You okay?” I asked, gently rubbing his back. I was told this didn’t help at all for Thinker headaches, but I didn’t know what else I could do for him short of also telling Palindrome to forfeit. Hunch shook his head. 

 

“We can’t keep running for too long, or Hunch will have to sit out,” I called to Palindrome, who stopped her pacing.

 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . Okay. Okay. Right. So. Let’s lay it out. You all did your homework, right? Read the dossiers?” she asked. 

 

Guilty silence. I fidgeted, remembering that I opened the email to instantly fall asleep a few days ago. In my defense, I had back to back patrols that day.

 

“Worthless. All of you.” Palindrome sighed, dropping her head into her hands, “Okay. The Shaker. Vista. The menace. Spatial distortion. They’ve been using her to box us in, and we’ve been running to stay grouped, but she’s Manton limited, she can’t warp us, and stuff directly next to us, and I think that’s what we’re going to have to exploit.”

 

“You want to fight them head on?” Cacophony asked, “You just said you don’t want to do that.”

 

“No, we are not going to fight them head on, we are going to go out there and disrupt their attempt at cornering us. If we get close enough to her, even better, we can tag her and get her removed from the board. Best bet is either me or you for that. If not, that’s also fine, we’ll be minimizing her contributions, but we need to get moving. I’m not about to sit here and get my ass handed to me by a Shaker the same age as her power rating.” Palindrome said.

 

Reynard spoke up, “I don’t think she’s actually nine years—” 

 

“I’m being pedantic, shut up.”

 

Palindrome began pacing again, this time in an excited fervor. I’ve never seen her this worked up over anything before. 

 

“Okay, once we break through, Cacophony, you take their leader, see who can scream louder, and I think Weld and Heavyset can at least slow down their Alexandria package, just gotta sit on him, or something,” she muttered, a hand stroking her chin. She looked over the rest of us, and I could almost see a physical lightbulb above her head light up as her eyes met mine.

 

_ Oh dear. _

 

“Sunspot,” she said, a manic grin forming on her face, “I have a job for you.”

 

\--

 

“This won’t work,” I muttered.

 

“It’ll definitely work,” Palindrome reassured me again for the sixth time in as many minutes. I looked down at my palms. They were glowing a bright orange, and I could feel the heat beneath my skin, roiling and seething, ready to lash out. From a distance I probably looked like a tiny flame on a very tall candle.

 

“I haven’t practiced enough with this, I could end up hurting someone,” I said. 

 

“You’re fine, you’re fine. I think they have some kinda miracle healer in their city anyways, I’ve seen pics, she can literally regrow limbs.” 

 

“And if I burn them to death? I don’t think there’s a cape that bring those back, yet,” I said.

 

“You’re not gonna kill anyone, Sunspot, promise, you have your tags ready?” Palindrome asked.

 

My hand groped the pouch that hung on my hip and felt a series of discs inside, “Yeah, I have them.”

 

I shook my body, trying to get the blood flowing. The rest of the Wards had spread out through the arena, each of them trying to minimize Vista’s power, all of them except me. 

 

Me, I was stuck at the top of one of the faux buildings, the tallest one that we could find, which was about twenty feet off the ground, and scanning the horizon for the Brockton Bay Wards, and would be alerting my team once I spotted them, and trigger phase two of Palindrome’s insane plan. 

 

I drummed my fingers against my thigh impatiently. So far, no luck, just hastily constructed buildings and astroturf as far as the eye could see. I was tempted to begin pacing.

 

“What if they know what we’re planning? What if they find one of you guys before they see—”

 

A volley of multicolored lasers soared above my head the same time a roar shook the foundations of the building frame I was standing on, and I threw myself down instinctively. The sound echoed around the arena.

 

“Looks like they see you, go, go, go!”

 

I stood up and flung my arms out in a wide arc, letting the heat I was building for the past few minutes spew out from my hands. A wave of bright yellow-orange sparks cascaded down the sides, lighting up me and my immediate surroundings in a flash of bright light. Before the corona smothered my own vision, I caught sight of a few unfamiliar costumes being stopped in their tracks. I shut my eyes as to not blind myself.

 

“Yeah, they saw me!” I yelled, hoping my comm picked it up. I groped around for the ledge of the building and latched onto it, waiting for the flares to diffuse. Heather and I had timed them over the course of the last few weeks; even at their brightest they only lasted about thirty seconds. She helped me develop the technique as a way to incapacitate rather than outright maim with my powers, but we’d never used it in the field before today.

 

_ Hopefully they’ll work. _

 

On the count of thirty, I cracked open my eyes, praying that the sparks didn’t turn into a torrential blaze, but flinched back as a red and silver blur shot past me, arcing into the air. That must be the Alexandria package. Aegis, I think Palindrome said his name was.

 

I raised a hand, tracking the flying hero with it, and let loose a series of fireballs. I didn’t stick around to see if any hit him, instead ducking through the scaffolding and scrambled down towards the ground floor. Distantly, I heard another roar, only this time, it was met with a familiar screech. The other Wards must have engaged. 

 

I took off at a sprint, heading towards one of the far walls of the arena. My job now was to keep at least member of the opposing team focused on me. Serve as a distraction. I could do that. I think. I hoped. 

 

Aegis was rising into the air again, scanning the battlefield. I let loose another barrage of fire, catching his attention and running away when he dived for me. A fleshy lump of red and silver impacted the ground behind me, kicking up dirt and grass. I picked up the pace. 

 

Dodging fliers were hard. Doubly so if the flier in question could tear through drywall like it was paper. I guess, in my heart of hearts, in some base instinct, or some deep, recessed, primal part of my brain, I knew that, but right now all I could think about was cursing Palindrome and her immediate next of kin for this plan. I banked left, and almost tripped over my own feet; only blind luck and a liberal application of flames from my hand to propel myself forward saved my face from meeting the ground. I risked a glance behind me to see the still rapidly approaching Ward. 

 

His costume was covered in soot, a thin film of dirt and grit that colored his costume black, and his arms were bare. Apparently the damage both me and the ground had done to him did not warrant him being called off the field. Fucking Brutes. I gathered another lump of heat from my core and let it stream from my hands, letting it jettison me further away from my pursuant.

 

“—spot, you doing—kay?” Remedial’s voice crackled in my ear. It was almost indecipherable through the static.

 

I ducked behind another building, “A little busy right now!” I cried. There was a rumbling behind me as another wall of plaster fell under Aegis’ soaring body. I kept running.

 

“Few of us are—but we still have pos—...spot?” I ignored her, instead concentrating on plotting out a path away from the Ward chasing me. I relied on my ears, hoping the sounds of combat getting quieter meant I was getting away from everyone else. I turned right and—

 

Wait. 

 

The building in front of me was familiar. Mostly from the large human sized hole in the side of it. I remembered passing it a few turns back. I turned around, only to find the ground missing. In its place was a sheet of drywall that stretched to the ceiling. I cursed. 

 

“This is just unfair,” I mumbled, and tried to circle around the obstruction. Two left turns later I wound up facing the wall again. I grabbed my hair in frustration.

 

“Aagghhh, this is  _ so _ not fair!” I growled. The ground around me began to rise and circle me, twisting and turning into a dome of dirt and white paint, “Sonofabitch!”

 

I began hurling flames at the wall in front of me in an attempt to tear a hole for escape, but each blast only revealed a deeper and deeper well of plaster and paint. That horrific Shaker must be deepening the wall as well. Where the hell was she hiding? 

 

At this point I was well and truly trapped by the shifting terrain, with no visible way out. I could try using my own body to dispel Vista’s powers, but it would take too long to wait for the terrain to return to normal, and I would be leaving myself wide open to attacks. I sat myself down in the center of my freshly constructed cell.

 

“Okay, you win!” I called, “Come on, just come in and tag me so I can get a drink of water or something.”

 

I waited in silence for several long seconds. Nothing. Silence. Were they really going to just leave me here?  I tapped my earbud to see if I could contact anyone. Static. I sighed and sat down on the dusty floor. At least I could rest my legs after that chase. 

 

Though, on the upside, this meant I was holding up their Shaker. She’d have to spend the rest of the match here holding me if they weren’t going to come inside and tag me. Hopefully the match would be done soon. How long could it possibly go, anyway?

 

\--

 

“An hour,” I hissed. 

 

“Look, they already apologized, and we thought you got tagged when the dome went up, so nobody really checked when they called it, shit happens, Ev, let it go,” Angiee tried to say placatingly. It didn’t sound nearly placating enough.

 

“An entire  _ hour _ ,” I didn’t let it go. I jabbed my fork angrily into a piece of chicken, “And  _ none _ of you thought that it was weird.” 

 

I caught a few of the Wards wincing and scratching their necks in embarrassment. Matt laughed. I bit my chicken angrily, or at least tried to. It was surprisingly good chicken for fast food. Or maybe I was just hungry because  _ some people _ forgot to ask a Shaker nine to let me out of the jail she crafted me before she got on a bus and fucked off back to whatever circle of hell she crawled out of. 

 

“Yeah, it sucks, but look on the bright side,” Angie said cheerily, spreading her arms, “We can definitively say that the Boston Wards are the best Wards on the east coast!” 

 

“A whole hour!”

 

I continued to jab at my fried poultry while Angie walked to the center of the commons where a large golden cup on a wooden pedestal with a small bronze plaque stood. She wrapped her arms around the thing in a hug. 

 

“After all these years, you’re finally mine, you big, shiny, useless lump,” Angie cooed happily, “I’m going to put your right on my windowsill so I can wake up to the sight of  _ victory  _ every morning.”

 

“Not allowed to do that, trophy stays on base,” Heather said, not turning around from the console. I wondered what she was doing seeing as the Wards were off duty tonight.

 

“Shut it, you curmudgeon, I know, just let me bask in the fruits of my arduous labor for just a bit longer before my great and glorious prize is locked away in a cabinet somewhere,” Angie replied, still staring at the trophy. I turned my head away. No one should be making those kinds of eyes at an inanimate object. 

 

“You mean our prize, we helped too,” Matt called from the other side of the room.

 

“If I do recall, you wanted us to throw the match, that doesn’t count as helping,” Palindrome called back. 

 

“If we did, then Eveline wouldn’t have been stuck in a hole for an hour!”

 

“Damn straight!” I joined in. 

 

“She might have suffered a little bit, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make,” Angie declared. I threw a french fry at her. 

 

The couch dipped a little as Weld sat down next to me, causing me to shift my balance and my food accordingly. I held up a piece of chicken for him reflexively, before remembering that I wasn’t at home, and put the fork down in embarrassment. 

 

“My bad, force of habit,” I said.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Weld replied with a wave of his hand. I popped the bite of chicken into my mouth.

 

“Weld! Come hug the glorious symbol of our victory with me!” Angie said, waving frantically from her position next to the trophy.

 

“If you want me to to absorb the trophy, sure, Angela, I’ll be right over,” Weld replied. 

 

“On second thought please stay far away from the glorious symbol of our victory. At least five feet, please.” 

 

With a pop, Matt managed to snatch the trophy out of Angie’s hands, and reappeared once more on the couch, holding said trophy above Weld’s head. Weld laughed as Angie rushed forward to grab the trophy out of his hands, but with another pop, Matt disappeared, which elicited a crash and a shriek from Caroline’s lab.

 

“Angie, I think I bent the trophy!” Matt yelled from behind the door. 

 

“I will  _ end _ you, you miserable, cretinous excuse for a human being!”


	12. Interlude 2

_ The fucking alarms were sounding. _

_ The fucking alarms were sounding, but what good were the fucking alarms when Behemoth was literally wandering through downtown? What good were they when the entire Tucson Protectorate got annihilated in under five minutes? What good were they when they offered no time to actually get to safety? What good— _

_ Shit. Fuck. No, calm down, find mom, dad, and Eveline, join the evac routes before you go deaf from this godforsaken siren— _

Her eyes shot open to the thunderous shrilling of her alarm. A hand shot out from beneath the covers to shut it off. 

“Urgghhh,” was the sound that came out of her throat when Pauline opened her mouth to swear. She began to cough as dried spittle in her throat and dehydration made itself known. A twitch of the arm sent several beer cans flying from her bed stand across the floor.

“Mmrrrhh.”

Pauline sat up and stared at the far wall. Her TV was on. Muted. Playing the news. There were pictures of Alexandria giving a statement next to Director Costa-Brown, and a mugshot of some guy in a prison jumpsuit and a collar. Pauline grabbed her remote to turn the thing off. The glare was making her headache worse. She spotted a trash bag and a bottle of Advil on the ground close to the door.

_ Past Pauline deserves a raise. _

Getting to the shower was a struggle. First Pauline struggled with undressing herself, somehow managing to trip over her pajamas and underwear as the articles of clothing came off. Then she struggled with actually navigating to the bathroom, dodging the odd aluminum can on the floor as well as dealing with the bouts of pain lancing through her head. And finally, Pauline struggled with actually turning the damn shower on, first accidentally blasting herself with freezing cold water before a hurried turn of the knob brought it up to a scalding burn. Eventually she found the oft-discussed yet rarely-discovered promised land of perfect warmth, and stepped in, letting the water warm up her body. A hand groped for her toothbrush on the sink, closing around the bit of red and white plastic and pulling it under the spray. Pauline ran the bristles over her teeth in a daze, while her other hand occupied itself lathering shampoo into her hair. Slowly, wakefulness and sobriety suffused themselves into her being.

Breakfast was simple; two eggs, over easy, laid atop two slices of lightly burnt toast. A cup of coffee with a healthy dose of Bailey’s completed the ensemble. As Pauline nibbled slowly at her toast, she pulled up her phone to begin her daily routine. Four emails, a text from Eveline, and a few alerts on her calendar. Pauline opened Eveline’s text first. 

_ Ev: Hey gonna hang w/ angie in the afternoon, will see u 2night? <3 _

Pauline sighed. Her sister had been spending more and more time out of the house lately, which was to be expected, considering that she was a Ward and a teenager, but at the same time she couldn’t help but worry. Tensions with the Teeth had been brewing, with the Butcher still adamantly staying within Boston for the foreseeable future and supposed reports of the Fallen roaming ever closer. And those were cape threats from outside the city. She just wanted Eveline to stay inside and away from the trouble and the danger, but even if she could get her to, it would not help; she’d read the studies. Capes wouldn’t, no, couldn’t do that. If she tried to force Eveline out of caping, she’d only be drawn back to it more and more, and she’d much rather government oversight than zero oversight. Pauline typed out her response.

_ Polly: Okay, stay safe. Do you need me to save you some dinner? _

The reply was automatic. Pauline checked the time and sighed. She was going to have to have another talk with Eveline about using her phone in class.

_ Ev: no, its k ill grab smthing from the prt caf _

Ugh, that place? That place had awful food, and knowing her sister she probably went for all the unhealthy options. Fried foods were the usual suspects. Pauline tapped over to her email, scanning whatever new arrivals had entered her inbox overnight. Nothing too pressing, it was stuff that could wait until she got to the office. 

With that, Pauline put her phone down and cleared the table, depositing the dirty dish in a sink towering with other dirty dishes. She made a mental note to actually clean them tonight before Eveline got home. She poured the rest of her mug of coffee into her thermos and made her way back to her room to get dressed. 

The drive to the PRT building was quiet, the fact that it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week probably had something to do with it. The piles of dirty snow plowed onto the sides of the road might have added to the lack of human presence. Pauline pulled the family’s rusted junk heap into her designated spot in the parking lot and finished the rest of her coffee, savoring the way it burned as it hit the back of her throat, despite it having gone cold ten minutes ago. 

Her office was small; four walls, a desk, a few filing cabinets and two chairs were scattered across the carpeting, with no real rhyme nor reason to their positions. It was plain, painted the same off-white as every other corridor in the PRT building. But it was high up, it had a window, and it had a view of the city. Pauline drew the blinds to keep out the sunlight. It hurt her eyes.

Her computer was taking ages to boot up; right now a blank, light blue screen was stating insistently that the update was almost finished, but just not quite finished, so please bear with it a little longer. Frustrated, Pauline decided to look over her schedule for the day. No new cases, just continuous follow-ups with the Boston police over the Dorchester case, a case that was being held in jurisdiction limbo right now. There was no definitive proof that it was cape related, but with some of those pictures…

She’d been stuck with the damn case for weeks; any attempt to send it up to a think-tank was always rebuffed, citing case overload and overexertion on the Thinkers, so now the investigation was left with its wheels spinning in bureaucratic muck, trapping her along with it. The cops were adamant about it being a parahuman killer, and wanted it sent to the PRT. The PRT, or specifically, Armstrong, wanted nothing to do with the entire ordeal until absolute proof of parahuman involvement was found so as to not strain his precious capes. Neither side were willing to actually investigate, it was a goddamn mess. Pauline reached into the bottom right hand drawer in her desk to retrieve a flask she kept there, but was interrupted by a knocking on her door.

“Come in,” she called, extracting her empty hand from the drawer. 

“Hey, Polly,” Sam Sene, a co-worker, poked his head in, with a haggard, stubbled face, and bloodshot eyes that spoke of exhaustion. Probably pulled another overtime shift last night. He had a phone held to his ear, “Did you finish that write up for the BPD last night? They’re asking for it and I want to be able to call the detective a dumbass who can’t check his email.”

“I...should have?” Pauline said. She grabbed her phone and opened up her email. Her outbox was empty, “...Shit, I don’t think I did, tell them they’ll be getting it whenever my computer actually boots. God knows they can wait another day when they make us wait a week for their evidence files.” 

With a sigh Sam slunk away, muttering half-hearted apologies to the phone while Pauline impatiently prodded her keyboard in an attempt to make the computer boot faster. An eternity later, she was in, and managed to shoot off the requested email. Her task completed, Pauline again snuck a hand towards the drawer. This time a call on her computer interrupted her. The screen told her it was the director.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you today?” Pauline said, lacing her fingers together as the image of the Director blipped into existence in the center of her screen. She slowly shut her drawer with a foot while cursing his entire lineage.

Director Armstrong looked prim and proper, as always, genial and strong in his suit and tie and trimmed beard, “Good morning Pauline, how is the Dorchester case coming along?”

She hated that voice. That gruff, calm, and deep baritone that sounded so damn much like her dad. He even greeted her in the same cadence her dad used to, with a heavier emphasis on the ‘morn’ than the other syllables. 

“I just sent in the third write up a few minutes ago, sir, I think we’ll need to bounce it at least a few more times before they’re willing to take the case back,” Pauline answered, “Not much we can do now other than to twiddle our thumbs and wait.” 

“Hmm. Very well, keep me posted.”

Pauline gave the screen a salute, “Always do, sir.” The video shut itself off. 

She leaned back in her chair and was about to reach towards the drawer again before another knock sounded on her door. 

“...Come in,” she ground out through her teeth.

\---

The sun was setting in the horizon. Pauline knew because she could see the slits of light trying to peek through the blinds, splashing golden light across her office. Her computer was turned off, and a flick of the pen finished up her paperwork for the day. 

Forms set aside and purse packed, Pauline set out from her office. The hallways were mostly empty, and even the atrium had only a fraction of its usual sea of bodies, with the majority of those that were there focused near the gift shop. Pauline rushed past security to the safety of her truck, where she let out a massive sigh once the rusted metal door slammed shut; today had  _ sucked _ . Apparently the BPD had hired some new excitable interns who fired back their rebuttal about the Dorchester case immediately after receiving the PRT’s letter. The new file had landed in her lap just after lunch, and she’d spent the entire afternoon writing the response, a task which took up most of her day, leaving her unable to focus on other cases.

Pauline pulled the car into gear. Fucking assholes, they should just take the case, or send in actual investigators so that evidence could be turned up. Evidence she could take to Armstrong; definitive evidence, not just pictures of blood spatter and gore. What the hell was she supposed to do with those? A normal could achieve the same result with a meat cleaver and some hooks.

The drive passed in a blur, concrete and brick passing in minutes before Pauline pulled the derelict junk heap she called a car into an empty spot on the street. She thumped her head against the wheel, trying to will the stress of the day away, and cursing the very existence of the Boston police department. 

The apartment was empty, which was expected, Eveline had texted her in the morning, after all. The first order for business for Pauline was to pour herself a stiff drink. She definitely deserved one after today. A few centimeters of amber liquor splashed into her tumbler, and she quickly drained the glass before moving on to clear the sink. 

An hour late, she collapsed onto the couch, a microwave dinner in one hand and remote in the other. She began flicking through channels. News, cape cartoons, cape dramas, cape documentaries, all flickered across the TV. Pauline settled on the news.

She used to be terrified of the news. Terrified that at any moment she’d see that some villain was attacking, and that the Wards were on scene. Terrified that one night she would see Eveline getting hurt, and be powerless to do anything about it, except to visit her in the hospital. Terrified that she wouldn’t even make it to the hospital.

Now? Now it was routine to leave the news on if her sister was taking a late shift, or out late, to make sure that she would  _ know _ if something happened, make sure that she wouldn’t be finding out her family got hurt through the PRT. The Roslindale scare had left her on the verge of panic when reports first filtered through; hours of downwards spiralling that left a creeping ache in her heart and a lack of air in her lungs. No. Not again. Never again. 

Pauline drained the can in her hand. Never again. 

The empty can found its way next to another. A few more joined them as the night progressed, and soon Pauline’s head felt fuzzy and her fingers numb. The door clicked open. She heard a shuffling of boots and the rustling of a heavy jacket. 

“Polly?” Eveline’s voice called.

“Living room,” she responded. Eveline poked her head around the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed from the chilly winter air, and her brown hair was splayed messily across her shoulders. 

“Hey,” she said, smiling. She collapsed onto the couch next to Pauline and made a show of reaching for one of her beers. Pauline moved it out of her reach.

“Hey, how was school?” Pauline asked.

“It was fine, pretty sure I aced the chem test today,” Eveline replied. She gave up on the beverage and instead grabbed the remote, changing it to some kind of reality drama. Pauline suddenly felt the urge to vomit, and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol.

“Was it because you were using your phone in class?” Pauline said. Her sister had the decency to look guilty. Good. 

“No, no, I just had a few minutes in between classes so I thought I’d text you about hanging out with Angie today, in case I forgot after school,” she said sheepishly. 

“Get off your phone in class,” was the only reprimand Pauline could muster, “What did you do with Angie today?” 

“Well, we mostly spent the afternoon walking around the city, but then we went to a few malls outside of the city,” Eveline said.

“Find anything nice?” 

“Nah, we were mostly there to get some dinner with a few of her friends, most of the stores were super expensive too, so I skipped out.”

Pauline raised an eyebrow, “You? Skipping out on clothes shopping? Do I need to call a M/S situation? Let the Director know one of his Ward’s been compromised?”

“Very funny,” Eveline said flatly. The two paused as a laugh track erupted from the television. Pauline saw an Eidolon impersonator being pushed into a pool by an Alexandria. Pauline turned to stare pointedly at her, willing her to elaborate. Eveline fidgeted, “It’s not like I don’t like shopping anymore, but it just feels kinda pointless nowadays, you know? Angie wanted to take me out to go look at some stuff, take my mind off the Fallen video, but—”

“Wait, what? Fallen video? What Fallen video?” Pauline pushed herself up, and regretted the decision as a dizzying wave of nausea made itself known to her. 

“Nothing, it was nothing,” Eveline said, steadying Pauline with a hand. Her eyes narrowed, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Never mind that, what Fallen video?” Pauline insisted. Her mind ran through the dozen threats addressed to her sister nary a day after the battle in Tucson. She thought leaving the state would’ve thrown those redneck cultists off their trail, but apparently not. 

“I mean it, it’s nothing. You need to sober up and head to bed. You have work tomorrow,” Eveline tried to deflect. Pauline was not deterred. 

“No, no, no, that’s not how this works. I’m the older sister, I ask the questions and tell  _ you _ when to go to bed. Now, what is this about a video?” 

“Polly, it’s fine—”

“Are they issuing threats? Is it credible? We can always ask the PRT to move you somewhere else, get away from them and—”

Pauline stopped talking as Eveline grabbed her shoulders, “Polly! Stop! It’s fine! It was nothing. It is nothing. We always knew some of the Fallen would do stuff like this, we’ve known since leaving home.”

“An actual threat is much more serious than a nebulous one,” Pauline responded, shrugging off her sister’s grip. 

“It’s not an actual threat, Polly, it’s just a video. It’s not credible.” 

Pauline reached for her phone, ignoring Eveline’s protests. A few taps on the screen brought up the PHO search function.

“I’m serious, Polly, just drop it, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Pauline said as she found the thread. Close to a hundred pages, first posted in the early morning. Definitely not nothing. 

The video was the first post. It was from the capitol building, the hill overlooking the Commons. Pauline could see people milling and wandering in the background as the camera tried to catch notable landmarks of Boston. A man’s voice narrated over the footage; low, guttural, and angry.

“We will have our just retribution, we will have our revenge against the cape who dared to strike against Behemoth. We know she is in this city. We will find her. We will crush her.”

The video continued to show landmarks of Boston, from the parks to the navy yard, to—

Pauline’s breath hitched as a familiar black and blue glass tower panned into view, with the PRT logo just barely out of frame. Judging from the angle of the video, the cameraman must’ve been directly by the entrance. This was more than just a credible threat, this was a direct one, filmed with mediocre definition. Pauline shot to her feet and began dialing a number.

“We need to get you out of here. I’ll call Yun, you start packing a bag,” she said. 

“What? No! Polly, stop!” Eveline leapt to her feet and reached for Pauline’s phone, but the older sibling twisted away. A misplace step, however, sent her sprawling across the floor, her phone flying out of reach. Eveline raced towards it and hung up. 

“Polly, you need to calm down,” Eveline said. 

“Calm—calm down?! Ev, they’re threatening to kill you! They’re in the city! We need to get you out of here!” Pauline spluttered. She lunged for her phone again, and the two resumed their game of keep away. 

“Polly, please listen to me, it’s fine, I talked to the Director about this already, we’ve worked out a way to minimize my patrol schedule, and—”

“What good will that do if they’re camping outside the PRT building? You’re still not safe here, we need to leave—”

“Polly, I don’t want to leave!” 

Eveline’s shout brought pause to Pauline’s attempt at retrieving her phone. Her arms dropped when she noticed her sister had tears in her eyes. 

“Please, Polly. I don’t want to leave,” she begged quietly, “I like it here. We’re almost back to normal. I have friends. School. Nights out. A job. Please. I don’t want to go.”

“They’re threatening to kill you,” Pauline said hoarsely. She plucked her phone out of her sister’s hand, but made no attempts to redial the Deputy Director.

“And they’ll keep threatening to kill us wherever we go,” Eveline replied, “They’ll threaten us here, they’ll threaten us if we moved all the way to Alaska. At least here we can expect them, here the PRT can reduce my patrols, here we can minimize the risk they find us.” 

Pauline found her way back to the couch and dropped herself onto the cushion. God, she needed another beer. 

“We could relocate to Providence,” Pauline tried as a last ditch attempt, “It’s only an hour drive, I could take us both ways, every day. You could stay a Ward here, take afternoon patrols, leave the city by night.” 

“Polly, it’ll be okay.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Everywhere is dangerous nowadays.”

“I just want you to be safe.” 

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Pauline’s waist and a head buried itself in her shoulder. Pauline reciprocated the hug while rubbing her sister’s back. 

“I know, Polly, I know,” Eveline said, “I know, and I love you, but please. Please don’t make me leave.” 

Pauline deflated, her arms falling listlessly to her side. She touched her forehead against her sister’s.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want,” she said quietly, wishing with all her being she was strong enough to go against her word.

Eveline tightened her hug, “Thank you.”


	13. 2.4

Everybody in life had regrets. If you didn’t, you probably weren’t human. But regrets also vary, sometimes wildly from person to person. Some people regret words they never got to say to loved ones, some people regret career choices, and some people regret not writing that book they always said they were going to. 

 

Me. I was regretting getting powers and being a Ward right about now. 

 

“Why are we the ones that have to do this?” I asked the tent wall in front of me as I pulled my costume on. 

 

“Because we drew lots last week? At least this means next time our names won’t be in the pool,” Remedial’s voice came from behind a blue plastic divider, a temporary wall that gave us our current privacy. 

 

“But we’re here  _ now. _ I could be anywhere else. I could be on patrol. Or on console. Or in class.” A hand groped its way around my back in an attempt to find the small zipper on the infernal suit. 

 

“It’s just a photo op, Eveline.” There was the sound of tearing velcro and a thump from what I assumed were her boots.

 

“I don’t like them. The photographers are always asking me to get into weird poses, or make a fireball in my hands.” My hand finally found its tiny, metal prey. I yanked it up and over my back and up to my neck to seal my costume and reached for my gloves. 

 

“So? What’s wrong with that?” 

 

“They’re crazy! What if I lost control in front of them? They could get hurt! Not to mention they’re always asking me weird questions.” The fingerless gloves were secured around my wrists by buttoned straps. I flexed my hand to make sure I still had a full range of movement. Darn, they were getting tight. Or was I getting fat?

 

“Weird questions? What weird questions? I don’t get those.” Remedial’s door clanged open and I heard her step out.

 

“I dunno. Weird things. Like ‘How’s your day been?’ or ‘Are you happy you’re missing school?’” I stepped into my boots and grabbed my mask from where it hung on the wall. I opened the door to my temporary changing room and stepped out. Remedial was staring at me, a bemused smile on her face.

 

“What?” I asked, “I have something on my face?” 

 

“Sun, do you not know what small talk is?” She asked.

 

“What? Of course I know what small talk is. What does that have to do with anything?” I grabbed a small bottle of water from a table in the center of the small tent. It was set up like how I remembered from the day of my debut, with a plate of snacks next to the water. I decided to forgo the sugary temptations.

 

“...Because those photographers were making small talk with you? And not asking weird questions?” Remedial reached for a Snickers, unwrapping it and breaking it in half. 

 

“No thank you,” I said when she offered me the other half, “I just think it’s just weird when it’s a photographer saying stuff like that to you, you know? They should just take my picture and let me go.” 

 

She shrugged, “I dunno, I don’t mind.” In seconds, the rest of the candy bar disappeared and she fixed her mask to her face. She moved to the door and thumbed the large button next to it. I pulled my own mask on as the buzzer sounded, telling our PRT trooper escorts outside that we were ready. I finished the rest of my water as the door opened, and a gust of chilly air blew in. 

 

“Ugh, I can’t wait for the summer,” I muttered, shivering.

 

“It’s not that cold, it’s only thirty four with wind chill,” Remedial said. We stepped outside into the Boston Commons, a large park situated in the middle of the city. This place was the common staging ground for most of the Wards’ PR events, as the trees and fields offered lots of space to set up temporary tents and stages, while the large open fields offered a nice backdrop of the city skyline for pictures.

 

“Hello, Arizonan here, moved here less than a year ago, I’m used to a nice and balmy seventy degrees in the winter,” I grumbled, rubbing my arms.

 

“You know, I always forget that. You don’t sound like it.” The two troopers standing guard outside gestured for us to follow them. 

 

“Everyone keeps saying that, I still don’t know what it means,” I said, falling in line behind them.

 

“I dunno. I keep expecting you to say things like  ‘y’all’ and ‘ain’t’ a lot more,” Remedial replied.

 

“That...that sounds racist.” I turned to one of the troopers, “Is that racist?” 

 

He laughed, “Kid, I don’t get paid enough to answer that.” 

 

We arrived in front of the gathered photographers, and the troopers waved us ahead. The gaggle was small today, thankfully, with only a smattering of cameras and notepads, and none of the big names. I sighed and took my place next to Remedial as the first of the ravenous horde approached, resigned to my fate. 

\--

The event ended in five minutes and all I could think was,  _ an hour is too long for a photo op _ .

 

“I hate these. Hate them hate them hate them. They’re worse than the TV interviews,” I muttered. The last guy finally gave me a thumbs up, and I dropped my arms from their previous awkward position to begin stretching them. 

 

“Dunno, I like them better than the outreach events, this way we don’t have to talk to kids the whole time,” Remedial said. She was packing away a few bits of Tinkertech she brought with her, the silvery instruments disappearing into the nebulous depths of her coat. Her trademark laser scalpel was the last to find its place in her front pocket. We found our places behind the troopers and started back towards the changing tent. 

 

“I like the school outreach events. They’re nice. And they’re also the only ones where Heather isn’t bitching all the time.” I purposefully took longer strides to try to stretch out my legs. It probably looked bizarre to anyone paying attention to us, but right now I didn’t care about silly pictures of me ending up on PHO or Twitter; the need to banish the soreness from my legs superseded the potential embarrassment. We thanked the troopers and hurried into the changing tent.

\--

My costume was halfway off when the world went to hell. 

 

A loud  _ boom _ sounded from behind me, followed by the clanging of the flimsy plastic tent door tumbling across the floor. I startled, but was cognizant enough to grab my jacket and wrap it over my body. Not the optimal solution, but right now I had no time to hunt for my suit’s zipper again. My mask found its way over my eyes, and I poked my head out of the stall. 

 

The first thing I saw were the two troopers lying on the ground. I had no idea if they were alive or not. There was no blood, but they also weren’t moving. The next thing I saw were the villains. Three of them. The one whose hand was glowing a bright orange was most likely responsible for the door being blown off its hinges. Their costumes didn’t look like any I knew of Boston’s villains, independent or otherwise. 

 

The first cape was covered with a dark brown and tattered burlap cloak, with a tattooed hand poking out from the front, like a cross between a ghost and a hobo. His face was covered in pure black cloth, plastered with lines and lines of white text. 

 

The other two capes stepped into the room. The first was a short, plump woman, also tattooed heavily like the other two. Her ‘costume’ was little more than underwear, with a pair of fake bat wings fixed to her back along with a belt wrapped around her hips that boasted a scary amount of knives. Her mask was the most impressive of the three though, a machined piece of shiny bronze etched with the visage of a screaming demon. 

 

The final cape was tall, and muscular. His mask looked like a fish head, with long blue tendrils dripping off of it and circling around his arms. He was bare-chested, with any and all visible skin plastered in tattoos that I couldn’t make out from this far away, but they seemed similar to the text on the explosion cape’s cloak. 

 

“...Hi, can I help you?” I didn’t mean to crack a joke, the words just slipped out.

 

Fish-head pointed at me. “You,” he growled in a familiar voice I couldn’t quite place, “The one who dared to strike at the First.” 

 

Oh no. Oh  _ hell _ no. 

 

“Um. Sorry, name doesn’t ring a bell.” 

 

_ Eveline you fucking idiot. _

 

The stripper lookalike cape snarled, and lunged at me. Her body shifted in the air, briefly shimmering like a mirage and suddenly she was in front of me, knife in hand, raised to strike. I felt my power rear its head, heat swamping my body as it prepared to retaliate, but even I could see it was too late to matter. Thankfully, Remedial was on the ball. Her fist punched through the divider and landed a clean hit against the cape’s side. From what she told me about her augments and implants, it was about the equivalent of getting hit by a sledgehammer.

 

The villainess went down with a shriek, and I took the reprieve to refocus my power and blast the tent wall behind me, opening a hole for the two of us to escape.

 

“Run!” I shouted, hoping Remedial heard me, and started sprinting as fast as I could. Around me, I saw civilians turn to catch the cause of the commotion.

 

“Get back!” I tried to yell at them as I ran past, “Cape fight, get back!”

 

I continued to run away, hoping to find a more secluded section of the Commons I could lure the Fallen capes to, but that was an exercise in futility. The park was situated next to the state capitol, as well as some of the busiest streets in the city. I couldn’t find a secluded spot if I tried, so instead I just kept running, hoping to lure the villains away from civilians.

 

Remedial found her way next to me.

 

“We need to call the PRT. Get them to send someone,” I panted. There was the sound of more explosions behind me. 

 

“I didn’t bring my comm. You?” Remedial said. 

 

“It was a  _ photo op _ of course I didn’t bring my comm!” I snapped. I ducked as I heard something whistling through the air. A solid column of water snapped above me, shattering a tree. We kept running.

 

“We could fight them. Hold them up until backup gets here. Two versus three. We could do it like the sparring sessions,” Remedial said. We were nearing the road that divided the Commons with the Public Gardens. While the two parks were technically separate, no one ever thought of them that way. We ran out onto the road, hoping our bodies would be enough to stop any cars from running us over. 

 

“I am  _ not _ risking one of the busiest parts of the city in a cape fight, especially with my powers, and against crazy rednecks that make things explode!” I started frantically waving pedestrians out of our path, “Get back! Cape fight. Get. Back!”

 

“Well what are we going to do? Just keep running?” Remedial asked.

 

“Wait! My phone! I have my phone!” I pulled the black rectangle out of one of my jacket pockets. Thankfully, I had the PRT emergency line on speed dial. I snuck a glance behind me. The Fallen capes seemed to have seperated, the only one I could see was the guy with the fish mask. Apparently he was also the hydrokinetic; his body was covered in a shimmering, light blue liquid. With a running start, he leapt across the road, jetting water from his feet to give himself a boost. Cars and people scattered at his approach, which was good. What wasn’t good was the fact that I couldn’t see the rest of his team.

 

The phone finally connected, “This is the PRT hotline, how can we—”

 

“This is Sunspot, I’m calling because of an emergency at the Commons. M/S code is, um, alpha...alpha…”

 

“Sunspot!” Remedial shoved me out of the way as a knife flew by and embedded itself in a tree. Oh, so there was the Mover. I caught my balance and kept running.

 

“It’s...it’s—I don’t know! I don’t remember my fucking M/S code for this week, just fucking send someone, please! The Fallen are here!” I screamed into the phone. I didn’t wait for a response, instead opting to hang up and stuff the phone back into my pocket and hoping that my message got through. There were too many distractions to try to talk.

 

We almost cleared the bridge running over the duck pond when it all went to shit a second time. 

 

The bridge was at least devoid of civilians, my frantic screaming made sure of it, so it wasn’t the potential danger to innocent lives that fucked it.

 

It all went to shit when the teleporting cape appeared in front of Remedial and stabbed her in the gut. 

 

She went down, hard, clutching the handle to keep the blade inside her as the Fallen cape shimmered her skank ass away. I turned around to pull my fellow Ward back on her feet.

 

“Dammit! You okay?” I asked. Like me, Remedial was also caught in a state of undress, meaning that instead of a reinforced undersuit, the knife went clean through her unreinforced lab coat and t-shirt. The green fabric was beginning to redden with blood. 

 

“Oh, me? I’m—” she winced as she stood up, “I’m perfectly fine. Just peachy keen. Tis but a flesh wound. Quick. Keep me talking so I don’t pass out.” 

 

She tried to step forward, but almost collapsed instead. I wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her upright.

 

“I don’t think I can keep running,” she wheezed. 

 

“That’s fine, that’s fine. Just. Um. Just keep pressure on the wound, and…” I trailed off as the Fallen capes assembled themselves across the bridge. There was the wail of police sirens in the distance. They sounded too far away to help.

 

The hydrokinetic cape began to walk forward. I braced Remedial’s body against my left side and reached out with my right arm, letting a fireball coalesce in my palm, “I’d suggest you stay back.” 

 

A thin whip of water snapped at the ground next to me, eliciting an involuntary flinch despite my best efforts to keep calm. The flames circling my hand grew.

 

“You are not in a place to make suggestions,” the hydrokinetic cape spoke. I finally placed the voice. This was the same guy who did the voiceover on that threat video. “It is time to answer for your heresy, girl.” 

 

“I don’t suppose I could make like the Catholic church and just pay a fine?” 

 

_ Yes, good, keep needling the religious fanatics with superpowers, you’re such a genius, Eveline. Maybe tomorrow you can go up to an Endbringer and call it an asshole, maybe then they’d have a change of heart and stop killing people. _

 

The teleporter snarled and brandished a knife. She tensed, probably to jump at me, but the hydrokinetic stayed her with a hand. He must be in charge.

 

“No,” he commanded, “It must be public. We will take her back.” 

 

He stepped forward onto the bridge. 

 

“I mean it,” I threatened again. The fireball blossomed with my words, “Stay back.” 

 

“Or what?” he asked, “You will risk your teammate’s life for a retaliation that will do nothing? Your powers do not affect me. Stand down, child, and face your judgement.” 

 

They were going to kill me. They were really going to kill me. Right here, in broad daylight, in the middle of the city. I was going to die because I hurt some stupid monster that a bunch of rednecks decided to worship. Because they wanted people to be afraid of them. 

 

I ground my teeth. 

 

No. No more of that. No more running away. No more just lying down and taking it. If they didn’t kill me, Polly would. I was going to fight this, my piece of shit powers be damned.

 

I took a deep breath. In. Hold. Out. The villains didn’t move, probably assured in my surrender. I began focusing my power, drawing on the depths of my core and channeling it into my finger. I remembered the exercises with Heather.

 

Stronger.

 

Smaller.

 

Deeper.

 

A bolt, more concentrated than I’d ever tried. Than I had ever dared to try. I felt the heat swell greedily as I gave it a target, and I let it all pour into my hand instead of stoppering it. 

 

“Sun...that’s feeling a little too warm,” Remedial mumbled behind me. I ignored her. 

 

My finger found itself pointed down the bridge. Straight shot, not even so much as an obstacle. I could make this in my sleep. 

 

The heat was close to a breaking point, I could feel it. I was on the edge of a blowback, but I continued to let it charge.  _ More _ , I demanded. More fire. More heat. 

 

The tip of my finger was shining, even in the sunlight now. I felt like I had the power of the sun focused in my hand. I tried to find something to say, maybe something profound or philosophical, a quip worthy of capes of yore. Instead, all I could force out was, “Go fuck yourself.” 

 

I let go.


	14. 2.5

A roar. 

Deafening, all consuming, like a vengeful spirit made manifest, erupted from my hand. A crescent of red and heat and flame that thundered its way across the bridge, blistering stone and shattering metal. It stumbled me backwards, forcing me to lean into a still-injured Remedial. I reminded myself to buy her lunch or something if we made it out of this alive.

“Dagon!” One of the Fallen capes shouted as my attack shattered a watery forcefield. I noticed a few thin streams of liquid coalescing around the fish-headed cape before a cloud of steam obscured my view. I shifted my weight so Remedial was leaning on me instead of the other way around.

“You still doing okay?” I asked, turning and trying to hobble away as quickly as possible. Maybe that wiped them out. Maybe it put them down for the count. Maybe we were in the clear. But training—and Cacophony—had taught me better than that. I scanned the gardens for a thick tree to hide behind. “Remedial? Caroline?”

I turned around. My partner’s face was white as a sheet. Her eyes were wide open, but was staring at nothing, and her breathing was very, very heavy. I wasn’t the medical professional she was, but that definitely did not seem healthy. 

_ Damnit. _

A voice cut through the spreading mist, “Batibat, Iblis, find them!” 

_ Double dammit. _

Calm. I needed to remain calm. That’s how I would get out of this alive. And I was going to get out of this alive, because fuck dying to some asshole wearing a fish for a mask. I tried to support Remedial’s body as best I could as I hurried to put distance between us and the villains. Cover. I had to find cover.

Thankfully, refuge in a public park was not hard to find. A thick willow by the pond served my purposes. I tried to sit Remedial down gently and dragged her hand over her wound, pressing down on the blood-soaked shirt. Sixty hours of first aid training, and that was the most I could do for her. 

“Remedial, come on, talk to me.” 

Her mouth moved, whispering something inaudible. I leaned in a closer to try to catch it. “What?”

“Front pocket...laser scalpel...cauterize…” God, her voice was hoarse. I fumbled for the front pocket of her coat, pulling out the thin grey handle nestled inside. There were two buttons on the side, one blue, one red. I hit the red one.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not so much as a light.

I hit the blue one.

The same.

“Fuck’s sake,” I murmured, throwing it aside. 

“Try...your...hand…” Remedial whispered.

“What?” I asked. Remedial gestured at my hand, a hand which still had vestigial flecks of orange flickering underneath the skin. Oh.

“No,” I turned back to her coat, hoping to find another solution in there. “Absolutely fucking not.” 

“Fucking...do...it…”

I bit my lip. No. No way was I going to use my power to try to  _ cauterize _ her wound. That would require my power to be, oh, I don’t know, delicate and fine-tuned or something. I looked at her shirt, plastered in blood. I looked at my hand. I felt the heat jump to my fingertips. I took a deep breath and turned my palm to face her.

“This is going to hurt,” I warned.

“No...shit…” she gasped. 

Well then. With alacrity, I yanked out the offending knife in her gut, rolled her shirt up, and pressed my palm against the wound. Pale, glowing skin met blood-crusted flesh. The sound was nothing like I expected, a sizzling hiss that sounded more apt for a kitchen than a battlefield. The scream though, I did expect. I clamped my other, hopefully not burning, hand over Remedial’s mouth and tried to ignore the smell of searing human flesh wafting in the air and tried my damnedest not to retch.

Two seconds, that’s all I dared let my hand stay on her wound. I yanked my hand off Remedial’s stomach, praying I didn’t just cook her internal organs. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst before looking down. The previous angry red gash was mostly replaced by a patch of crusted brown and black. The job wasn’t perfect though; there was still a thin rivulet of red running from one end and the skin on the edges of the wound looked far too pink to be healthy. It’d have to do, at least until she could get to a hospital. 

“Never, ever ask me to do that again,” I hissed, turning around and trying to pull my power back before flames could spill out my hand. Remedial didn’t respond, just made a gurgling noise and slumped sideways. I tried not to groan and pulled her over my back again. 

I made it six steps away from my cover before I found myself staring down the end of a knife. 

“End of the line, heretic,” the Mover cape hissed at me. Fish-head and Bandages walked forward to flank her. I gently set Remedial back down on the ground and slowly raised my hands in surrender. Bandages hurried forward to grab my wrists while the woman turned her knife to face Remedial.

“Let her go,” I tried to inject some bravado in my voice, but it just came out ragged and hoarse. 

“You are in no position to make demands, girl,” Fish-face spoke. I noted with some satisfaction the bits and pieces of singed clothing being covered up in sheets of water, and a few obvious burns on exposed skin. Take that, you bastard.

The satisfaction quickly evaporated when I was shoved to my knees. 

“Knock her out. Kill the other one,” the hydrokinetic cape ordered.

“Hey! Wait, no! Stop!” I squirmed against my captor, to no avail. I was too tired and he had too good of a grip on me. “It’s just me you want, stop! Leave her alone!”

“Silence, or I will—”

“That’s enough.” 

Two words cut through the air. Heads turned, drawn towards the sound, including my own. What I saw was a contingent of costumes; a meld of colors and shine and masks that dominated the attention. They were here, all of them, the full assembly of Boston’s Protectorate, standing in formation with Bastion at their head, Palindrome and Cacophony behind them. 

There were no words, just a gesture from Bastion, and every cape burst into action, each knowing and understanding their roles. For the first time, I witnessed the full, terrifying might of Boston’s superheroes brought to bear. 

The fight was fast, frighteningly so. A golden stream of light zipped back and forth between the park, alerting and guiding any wayward bystanders out of the way the same instant dark blue walls began erecting themselves over the myriad entrances and exits of the park, severing it from the road. In an instant, the villains were corralled and civilians mostly secured.

Then came the incapacitations. Blackout’s massive armor deployed a pair of tasers from its shoulder, the pronged wires easily predicting the Mover cape’s teleportation as she tried to leap away. They met the woman as she shimmered into existence near the edge of a fence, dropping her with a shriek. Fish-face tried to move forward to help her, but was met by two winding streaks of blue from Crackshot’s guns, forcing him on the backfoot. Dovetail dove in, pelting him with her signature confoam grenades. Plates of spinning water met the popcorn shaped bombardment, filling the air with yellow-white flowers of foam. All around me thundered the flash, stench, and onomatopoeia of combat. I could barely keep track of it all, still reeling from my second near-death experience in too few months.

Bandages dropped me unceremoniously as Cacophony approached us, raising his hands to assume a fighting stance.

“Cover your ears,” my teammate warned. I moved to obey.

Cacophony drew a deep breath, her head angling towards the sky. Iblis reached up, hand alight in sparkling red and orange in attempt to stop the attack. She didn’t use her power; but instead faked him out, ducking and sliding forward with a foot and slamming her shoulder into the Fallen cape’s esophagus. The cloaked cape stumbled back with a gurgle, hands reaching for his throat in a panic. Palindrome appeared behind him, planting a solid blow against the side of his head, dazing him. She grabbed his arm, bent it back, and kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel. “You stay the fuck  _ down _ , motherfucker. Stay down and don’t you even think about getting back up, you absolute waste of oxygen. Give me an excuse and I will drop you off a roof.” 

“Palindrome,” Bastion admonished. He wasn’t actively participating in the fight, not that it could really be considered one; the villains were already down and out. The entire thing took less than a minute. 

“ _ What?! _ ” she yelled, not taking her eyes off the villain. 

“Language.” 

“Language? That’s what we’re concerned about right now? My goddamn language?!” Her eyes shot up to glare at the Protectorate leader now, but the elder cape was unfazed.

“Yes. Watch your language,” he said firmly. 

I watched Palindrome make a conscious effort to rein herself in, biting her lip and shaking her head. She spun the villain around and sat him on the ground before motioning for a trooper to cover him up in containment foam, “And don’t even try to break your way out of this, or I will personally make sure you can’t use your powers for at least a week.” 

She delivered a kick against his side as a cloud of yellow-white foam consumed the groaning villain. Palindrome stalked away from his prison to face Bastion, her arms folded.

“I should not have to censor myself when talking about pieces of trash like him,” she hissed, jerking her head towards the encased cape. 

“Every citizen of this country deserves to be treated with respect. Even criminals,” Bastion replied. I wasn’t sure how much I agreed with that line of thinking. Though I guess my judgement was a bit clouded, seeing as they just tried to kill me. Two troopers appeared in front of me and tried to help me stand up. I waved them off.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, get to Remedial first,” I muttered.

“That  _ garbage _ does not need to be treated with respect! Look at this! Broad daylight, in the middle of a crowded, public location. I don’t know what the hell they’re doing down in Tennessee, but there are supposed to be standards dammit! Expectations!” she yelled. 

“I think they’re based in Kansas, actually,” Cacophony said, kneeling beside me. “You okay?” 

I gave her a weak nod and a thumbs up. She pulled me to my feet and walked me over to Palindrome and Bastion, which I was grateful for, because I probably would not have been able to manage it on my own.

“What the fuck does Kansas have to do with anything?” 

Cacophony jerked a thumb to point behind her, “The Fallen. These guys. Think they’re based out of Wichita. Which is in Kansas.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn where the fuck they’re actually from, they—” 

“Palindrome, that’s enough,” Bastion’s voice cut through her tirade. “Get back to headquarters and get Sunspot medical attention. We will do a full debrief later.” 

Angie folded her arms and looked away, her mouth twisted in a snarl. “Fine.”

\--

Medical attention apparently warranted me being put into a bed by the time we got back to headquarters. 

I protested against it; they hadn’t actually hurt me, and it was Caroline who suffered the worst of the attack and I was fine, for the most part. 

Heather nodded and told me to change into the hospital gown.

“Look, I know I fucked up,” I began as soon as she came back into the room to check on me, but was silenced by a hand. 

“Just get in the bed and wait for someone to check you over with the scanner, Eveline,” she said. “I’m going up for the debrief.” 

“How bad is Caroline?” I asked, lowering myself into the hospital bed. God, I was so tired that even the normally scratchy sheets and tough bedding felt like heaven right now. 

“Conscious enough that she’s asking for authorization for some Tinkertech healing agent to be used on her, hurt enough that they might even approve it,” Heather answered. “Get some rest, I’ll see you in a bit, Eveline.” 

I leaned into the thin pillow and closed my eyes, thinking I was too wired to fall asleep.

\--

I woke up to the feeling of cottonmouth and the sound of heated debate.

The first voice I heard was Angie’s, measured and calm. “Remedial, we can not authorize that.” 

The next one, not so much. “It’s a  _ gel _ ! It’s not even invasive! I’m not asking you to let me put a third arm in my back or something!” 

“The Director said—” 

“Come  _ on,  _ Angie! You’re going to let me be confined to a bed for a week because Armstrong’s too much of a pussy to do anything?!” 

A straw made its way in front of my face. A glance down told me it was a cup. I took it with my hands and sat up. 

“Hey,” Heather said. Her signature leather jacket was folded over the back of her chair, and her mask was dangling off an armrest, but she still had the rest of her costume on. 

“Hey,” I replied. “How long was I out?” 

A trickle of water made its way down my throat, the ice cold ambrosia soothing my dry mouth. I sucked at the straw greedily and emptied the cup’s contents far too quickly. 

“Only two hours. They relocated Caroline here after they realized she was okay enough to make a fuss,” Heather answered, taking the empty cup out of my hands and placing it on the ground while also taking out her phone and turning it on in a singular fluid motion. 

“And what is this fuss?” I moved to get off the bed, but had to sit back down when the soreness of my...everything made itself known to me. My eyes wandered around what was slowly becoming the very familiar medical wing of the PRT building, with its just tinted green walls and bright light strips and the twin rows of identical beds arranged perfectly straight down the sides. A variety of equipment was spread around as well, from typical hospital gear to shiny chrome carts that looked like they were ripped from sci-fi movies. Caroline’s bed was back in the corner, with a curtain drawn around it. 

“New proprietary stuff she developed. Claims it can promote healing times, disinfect wounds, and a dozen other things,” Heather said, steadying me with a hand when it became clear I wasn’t getting up of my own volition. “Armstrong says it hasn’t passed lab testing yet, so told her she couldn’t use it.”

“Fine! I won’t fucking use it! I’ll just stay on this goddamn bed like the cripple you want me to be!” 

“Caroline, that’s not why you can’t use it.”

“Where is she even getting the energy to yell like that from?” I asked. I wasn’t even the one that got stabbed, and I couldn’t even think of trying to scream like Caroline right now.

“Beats me.”

There was the muffled thwap of a pillow being thrown against the wall. “Fine!” 

The blue-grey curtain split open, allowing a very haggard looking Angie to step out. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was messy and splayed, and her costume looked like it just came out of a hurricane with her still in it. 

“Hey,” she greeted us as she walked over. Heather pulled a can of soda from under her chair and handed it to her. “Thanks.” 

Angie settled into another nearby chair and popped the tab of the can. There was the sound of a crack, a hiss, and hearty chugging. After about thirty seconds Angie sighed and tossed the freshly emptied can back towards Heather, who caught it without looking up from her phone. 

“That was impressive,” I remarked. 

“Thanks,” Angie mumbled, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. “You feeling okay?” 

Now wasn’t that a question. 

“I’m…” I struggled to find the right words to describe the blend of emotions I was feeling right now. Most of it just ended up at either angry or apologetic, with maybe a dash of excitement and trepidation that was coming from god knows where. “I don’t really know. I’m alive. I think that’s the most important thing right now.” 

“Good, good. Alive’s good. I like being alive. I also like you being alive. Means we don’t have to bust the bottle out,” Angie murmured. She slumped down in her seat. Her eyes were unfocused, staring off into nothing, and she was idling rubbing her arm. Heather nudged her with a foot and she shot back to attention. “Sorry.” 

“Go to bed, Angela,” Heather commanded. 

“Later. I can do that later. Few more bits and pieces here and there left to do,” Angie murmured. 

Heather stood and gathered her stuff. “Cool. Let’s go do it away from the people who should be resting after they were attacked.” 

Angie didn’t budge from her chair. Heather walked over and nudged her. “Angela.” 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” she said. 

“Angela.” 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Angie repeated. “We shouldn’t have to deal with literal terrorists in the middle of the city.” 

“Angela.” 

“I’m serious! Even during the bullshit three years ago, the fighting was kept on the down low! There were courtesies expected from both sides! Not open warfare in broad daylight!” 

I cringed. “Sorry.” 

Angie blinked, her anger evaporating. “What? Sorry? Why’re you sorry? They’re the ones who should be sorry.” 

“Because they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.” It felt like an ugly thing to admit, that the Fallen were here because of me, because of what I did back home. But wasn’t that the truth? 

“What? No, no, no no no,” Angie shook her head insistently. “No. Not your fault. Don’t think like that. Stop thinking like that.” 

It was her turn to stand, walking over and laying a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. It didn’t feel very comforting.

“You can’t blame yourself for the actions of a few assholes,” she said. “They chose to do what they did, and no one is blaming you for it.” 

“I can think of a few people who could blame me for it,” I said. Like the one currently confined to a hospital bed a scant twenty feet away from me. Or maybe the two PRT officers who escorted us in the Commons. Or the dozens of innocent bystanders who got caught by stray powers once the fighting started. Maybe a few squirrels.

“No. Stop. Stop doing that,” Angie insisted. “Gah, I should have kept my stupid mouth shut.” 

She sat back down in her chair and began massaging her forehead with a hand. 

“She’s right,” Heather spoke up, surprising the both of us. 

“Jesus Christ,” Angie said, massaging her chest with a hand. “I thought you left.” 

“She’s right,” Heather repeated, studiously ignoring her. “This wasn’t your fault. You haven’t accepted this fact yet, but you will.” 

Heather grabbed Angie’s shoulder and pulled her standing, then began guiding her out of the room. 

“But what's more important right now is that you take the time to rest. You’ll need it.” 

“I feel fine,” I complained. “Seriously, I don’t think I’m that hurt, why do I need to rest?”

“Because in about four hours, it’ll be the morning, and your sister will be given access to the medical wing to check on you.”


	15. 2.6

Have you ever seen the physical manifestation of the phrase, ‘I told you so’?

 

It’s a curious thing. A lot of people would probably tell you that it’s impossible to have a physical manifestation of a turn of phrase, or a saying, but I knew that against all odds, it definitely existed. It looked like a scrunched up face, a set of narrowed eyes, a frustrated frown, and a head of wild, messy, brown hair. It looked like my mom the first time I came home with a D on a math test that she repeatedly warned me to study for and I ignored her.

 

It was a look that was currently staring at me in the face in the form of my very tired, very haggard looking sister.

 

I took another sip of the coffee she brought me, trying to occupy my thoughts with the taste of the bitter beans and the cream and sugar and look anywhere else but directly at her to keep her from talking. It didn’t work.

 

“Eveline, look at me.”

 

Oh no. Full name. With the mom voice too. I turned my head slowly to face her, hoping that if I lengthened the time it took to meet her eyes, it would shorten the time of any potential tirade. The second my eyes met hers, though, I realized that was impossible.

 

“Polly, look—” I began, to try to forestall the lecture. Anything I was about to say was completely cut off as she wrapped me in a tight hug.

 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

 

I deflated, any semblance of defensiveness vanished as her arms enveloped me. I leaned into her shoulder and wrapped my own arms around her.

 

“And I am going to kill you if you ever do something like that ever again.” And there was the kicker.

 

“I wasn’t the one who started it,” I said. Polly released her hug, but kept her hands on my shoulders.

 

“You could have ran,” she said. “You _should_ have ran.”

 

“I _did_ run,” I said.

 

“You didn’t! You fought them! I saw the footage! What were you thinking?” my sister demanded.

 

“They got Remedial! I had to make sure she was okay! And if I didn’t turn around to fight they probably would’ve started hurting civilians!” I retorted.

 

“So?”

 

My jaw dropped open.

 

“That’s not—that’s not what I meant,” my sister backpedaled, shaking her head.

 

“I think you meant exactly what you said,” I said.

 

“You should be looking out for your own safety before other’s,” Polly said.

 

“Polly, that’s like the exact opposite of my job description.”

 

“Ev, please I’m just—”

 

“Worried about me, I know, I know,” I interrupted her. The empty coffee cup found its way into a nearby trash can, and I heaved myself off the bed. If we had to have this talk today, I’d much rather have it at home. The light blue curtain made its way around my bed and I began to change out of the hospital gown.

 

“It’s just…” I struggled to find the right words to placate Polly while simultaneously struggling to pull my jeans on. “It’s just that this might be the safest I can ever get, you know?”

 

“No, I don’t know. What I do know is the fact that you can think this is the safest you’ll get is absurd,” Polly said, handing me my next article of clothing after I finished entombing my legs in denim. Thankfully, tank tops went on a lot faster and easier than skinny jeans.

 

“It is though,” I protested. Socks went on next. “It’s a high risk job. Your job is too.”

 

“I’ve been puked on by suspects, I haven’t been attacked by a group of fanatical, superpowered terrorists,” Polly said, handing me my sneakers. Finally, the sweater I picked up in New York found its way over my head and around my body. The weather app said it was sixty-five with sun outside. I didn’t trust it.

 

“Did they talk to you? About taking a break?” My sister continued, picking up her own stuff and tidying up around the hospital bed.

 

I nodded. They were taking me off active duty, effective last night, along with three more mandatory therapy sessions being crammed in. Only a week though, so that was good. I honestly had no idea what else to do with my free time other than to be in and around the base. Wonder what that said about my life. Dr. Yamada would probably have a field day with it.

 

“I expected a stronger reaction out of you than that,” Polly said.

 

I shrugged. “It is what it is, not like I can do much other than complain about it.” My sister nodded at my wisdom.

 

“Ready to go?” she asked, shouldering her purse.

 

“Yeah,” I answered.

 

For some unknown and most likely logistical reasons, the medical wing was located near the top of the PRT building, sequestered off in a corner of the labyrinthian glass maze. This meant that I had a long few minutes of awkwardness to spend with my sister while quiet jazz played over the elevator speakers. Thankfully my sister didn’t continue our line of conversation from the hospital bed.

 

“Just so you know, you’re on your own for dinner tonight, okay?” she said as the doors shut and we began our descent.

 

“Okay. You working late tonight?” I asked.

 

“No, I have a date,” Polly said.

 

For the rest of my life, I will deny that my head turned so quickly there was an audible crack from my neck. “You have a _what?_ ”

 

"A date,” my sister said nonchalantly, as though she didn't just drop a conversational bombshell to rival the Fat Man on me. I waited for her to elaborate. She did not. I gestured with a hand for her to continue. She did not. I narrowed my eyes and tried to will my latent Master powers into existence so that she would continue talking. She did not.

 

“Okay, no, you don’t get to just do that. Spill. Now.” Dammit, I broke first. Now she had the informational advantage.

 

“What is there to spill? I have a date. I won’t be home for dinner tonight. So you get to, I dunno, order in pizza or something equally unhealthy for yourself.” Polly refused to look me in the eyes. I knew she felt me glaring at her though.

 

“Don’t try to deflect, my dietary habits are fine. Come on. More. Give me more,” I demanded, grabbing Polly’s arm and shaking her. “A name. A Facebook profile. Anything.”

 

She sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

“Yeah, well, moment’s passed and you’re an idiot. Come _on_ , Polly. Tell me. You haven’t dated since high school.”

 

That got her attention. Polly finally turned to face me, frowning. “Yes, I have.”

 

“Stalker Steve doesn’t count.”

 

“No, Steve doesn’t count, but there was also Barry.”

 

“You mean the cop who lasted less than an afternoon?”

 

“It was at least a week.”

 

“It was one date and six nights of getting me into your dorm room to eat ice cream with you.”

 

“There was—”

 

“There were no more,” I interrupted her. “Trust me, I keep very meticulous records.”

 

“You keep records of my boyfriends?”

 

I shrugged. “Dad and I had a deal to trade off on holding a weapon in the living room whenever one of them picked you up back in high school. I just never stopped keeping track.”

 

Polly gave me an incredulous look while I put on my most innocent smile for her.

 

“You know, this is the sort of thing, the _older_ sister usually does,” Polly remarked as the elevator announced our arrival at the ground floor. The doors parted to reveal a busy atrium, with tourists, troopers, and the occasional office gopher flitting here and there. We began to forge a path towards the exit.

 

“Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember if you’ve ever _had_ a boyfriend. Or a date.” she continued.

 

I dodged out of the way of a running schoolkid being chased by his minder. “Oh, are we really going there now?”

 

“Going where? Home?” Polly asked with feigned ignorance.

 

I glared at her. “I’ve dated before. You know I’ve dated before.”

 

“Have you? I can’t be sure, since I don’t keep a notebook of your romantic history.”

 

“It wasn’t a notebook, it was like a Post-It.”

 

“Semantics.”

 

I stuck my tongue out at Polly as we entered the rotating glass door that led out of the PRT building and into our truck.

 

“And for your information, yes, I totally have dated before,” I said while yanking the fraying grey strap over my shoulder.

 

“I don’t think a plush doll of Legend counts, sister.”

 

A warning finger directed its way towards her. “Don’t you dare.”

 

My foolish sister elected to ignore me. “Wonder if we still have that picture of you kissing it. When was that? When you were eight?”

 

“Polly, I literally have superpowers.”

 

“Ooh, or maybe that signed poster you got. Have you kissed that thing recently?”

 

“Really good, volatile superpowers that set things on _fire_.”

 

“Or are you going to buy one of those expensive collector’s figurines and—”

 

Polly stopped talking when I pressed a finger into her cheek.

 

“That,” I said, “is a disgusting image, you disgusting person.”

 

“But will you?”

 

The poke in her cheek turned into a shove at her shoulder, and Polly laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t get us into an accident.”

 

“And I have dated,” I still defended vociferously.

 

“Does it really count though? It was fourth grade.”

 

“So you do remember,” I said triumphantly.

 

“Don’t dodge the question,” my sister said.

 

“It counts!” I whined. It totally counted. We kissed each other on the cheek and everything. And watched a movie. That’s what dating basically was, wasn’t it?

 

“Okay, fine, it counts, it counts,” my sister continued to laugh at me. “You know, I wonder where most of those people are, right now. My boyfriends. Your one-time date.”

 

“Probably dead.”

 

My head lowered as I considered all the ways to mentally slap myself. Or maybe physically slap myself. Did I really just say that out loud? What the fuck was wrong with me?

 

The car trundled on, all levity petering out as I turned to stare out the window and Polly pretended not to hear what I just said.

 

“That was bad,” I admitted as we turned onto our street.

 

“Very,” Polly agreed. Our car ground to a spluttering halt on an empty spot a two doors down from our apartment and I slipped out.

 

“Sorry,” I apologized.

 

Polly gave me a small smile. “It’s okay. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Don’t order pizza, be healthy.”

 

“Sure.”

 

I waved as the truck disappeared back into traffic and trudged up the stairs to the apartment, flinging myself into the bed and rubbing at my tired eyes. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled out my phone to order a pizza.

 

\--

 

My lunch was halfway laid out when one third of my non-cape friend group zipped up in a grey-blue blur and sat down across from the table.

 

“Yo. Got a quick question for you,” Julia said with her usual manic energy. She swung herself over the bench, depositing a gross assortment of public school lunch foodstuffs on the table. It truly was amazing how she could beat the lunch rush every day and get her food that quickly.

 

“Shoot,” I said, biting into a slice of leftover pizza.

 

“Choose three Wards, fuck, marry, kill.”

 

A mouthful of half-chewed dough, cheese, and tomato sauce sprayed onto the table as I choked on my food.

 

“Wow,” Julia said, completely unfazed by the display. “You think they’re that ugly?”

 

“That’s not...they’re in masks, how could I even judge?” I spluttered, grabbing a napkin off her tray to clean up the table. Of all the weird questions I’ve been asked by her, this was one I didn’t want to answer the most.

 

“So? Judge on bodies, you idiot. Or costumes, if you’re into that kinda stuff.” she persisted.

 

I was saved from the awkwardness of having to mentally ogle my teammates as Jake sat down with his own lunch.

 

“Wow, last period have a food fight or something?” He asked as he saw me mopping up the remnants of my spillage.

 

“No, Eveline’s just a prude,” Julia said, stuffing a sporkful of...something in her mouth.

 

Jake’s signature sandwich and bag of pretzels made their way onto the table. “Yeah? How so?”

 

“I asked her the same question I asked you in history. And I guess the thought of sex sent her hurling.”

 

“The fuck, marry, kill on the Wards?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jake began to nibble on a pretzel. “Who did she choose?”

 

“No one,” I took the chance to interrupt the pair, knowing that Julia would spend the rest of the lunch period making up all sorts of bizarre answers. “I chose absolutely no one, because the question is weird as hell. Why the Wards in the first place?”

 

Julia’s nose crinkled. “Not into cape stuff?”

 

“She has to be, she works at the PRT,” Jake answered for me. My only answer was to shoot him an angry a glare as I could muster.

 

“That doesn’t mean I fantasize about the Wards,” I defended.

 

The last member of our usual lunch table decided to join us at that moment, settling down next to Julia with his own similar, yet slightly different assortment of unidentifiable boxes and scoops of slop.

 

“What about the Wards?” Victor asked, adjusting his glasses. “Oh, are you guys talking about that attack in the Commons a few days ago? With the Endbringer cultists?”

 

“Not the important thing right now, I need Eveline’s answer to the thing I asked you last night.”

 

“The fuck, marry, kill on the Wards?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Victor opened his carton of milk and took a swig. “Who did she choose?”

 

I hid myself behind a slice of pizza, pretending to be exasperated but secretly glad that we weren’t going to be discussing my monumental fuck-up in the Commons. “Jesus Christ, did you ask the entire school?”

 

“I was gonna ask you yesterday, but then you didn’t show up to school,” Julia explained. “So you get to answer now.”

 

“Can I veto?”

 

“Nope. Consider it punishment for leaving me completely alone at lunch yesterday.”

 

“What about Jake and Victor?”

 

“Field trip. And they already answered, cleansed of sin,” Julia said. She set her spork down and bit into an apple.

 

“Can I do the Protectorate instead?” I didn’t know those guys nearly as well. Even though they were technically supposed to be the ones who were training us so that we would be ready for actual hero work when we graduated.

 

“No,” all three of them denied me at the same time. Bastards. I set my pizza down and took a drink of water to delay my answer, not feeling very happy about the change of topic anymore.

 

“Before I start, who did you two pick?” I asked Jake and Victor, hoping to extend my reprieve ever so slightly. Thankfully, they granted it. Not so thankfully, it was still talking about the Wards. My teammates. And which of them they wanted to have sex with. And marry. And kill.

 

“Fuck Palindrome, marry Remedial, kill Cacophony,” Victor was the first to answer, making me fervently hope that my face didn’t twitch too much as he listed off the names. Lord above, could this get any more awkward?

 

“I went with fuck Sunspot, marry Palindrome, kill Cacophony,” Jake continued.

 

_Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, please just take me now._

 

My water bottle found its way back onto the lunch table with painful, deliberate slowness as I prayed to every possible god out there that my face wasn’t turning red at Jake’s answer. Great. Apparently he wanted to have sex with my cape identity. What a great fact to know about him. I could put that factoid right into the little case in my brain labelled ‘Forget as soon as possible’, where other great memories resided, like my trigger event.

 

“Ah,” I said, taking another bite out of my pizza and trying to look anywhere else in the crowded, busy cafeteria and wishing with all my might that I could have Reynard’s powers and just teleport away from this conversation right now. I wouldn’t even care about the outing myself part.

 

“And I went with fuck Heavyset, marry Weld, and kill Cacophony.” Julia finished the discussion that I wish never started and gave me an obnoxiously bright smile. “Your turn. Choose.”

 

_I choose to get the fuck out of this conversation right the fuck now._

 

Despite desperately hoping for some kind of out, none made itself known to me. Maybe I could just burn the whole school down? The resulting Birdcage sentence seemed much more welcome than answering Julia’s ridiculous query. How the hell did she come up with this stuff anyway?

 

I elected to continue biting at what had become a very stale and bland piece of pizza crust. The previous night’s refrigeration of said crust had nothing to do with its current state of edibility. The silence at our lunch table dragged on as I made a show of chewing through my doughy salvation and avoiding everyone’s eyes.

 

Jake broke first. “If you’re actually uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer—”

 

“Yes she does,” Julia interrupted him. “Don’t try to absolve her punishment, Jake. She needs to face it like a woman.”

 

“It’s not my fault, I had a work thing yesterday,” I tried to explain.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Unimportant. Answer. Now.”

 

Thankfully, before I had to shamefully run away from the conversation, a leather-bedecked angel, commandant of all things holy and good descended upon us to save me with her effervescent glow.

 

Okay, maybe it was just Heather walking up to talk to me, but I count my blessings where I can.

 

“Eveline,” she said in her usual sharp tone. Right now it sounded purer than any chorus. “I need to talk to you.”

 

“Sure!” I said brightly, balling my trash into my hands and leaping up from the plastic seat. “What do you need?”

 

“Hey!” Julia cried. “You can’t just bail like that, that’s cheating!”

 

“It’s a work thing,” Heather said, turning me around and briskly leading me away. “Sorry, I’ll get her back here as soon as I can.”

 

“You better come back with three names, Eveline! Three names!”

 

“I owe you my life,” I muttered to Heather as she marched me out of the cafeteria and into a deserted hallway. There was a trash can at the end of the hall that I tried to underhand my wad of paper and tinfoil into. It missed, but just barely.

 

Heather clicked her tongue at me, gesturing for me to go pick up my litter and walked with me to the end of the hall.

 

“So what’s the work thing? Or was it just an act of mercy that you decided to whisk me away?” I asked, correctly disposing of my trash.

 

“Team meeting after school today. Four pm,” Heather answered.

 

“And how’s that gonna work out? I’m pretty sure if I walked into the building any time this week, Armstrong would actually have a hernia and then I’d get relocated to Madison or something,” I said.

 

“Never said we were having it at the base. Meet me at my locker after school?”

 

I shrugged. “Sure.”

 

“Cool, now before you head back to that table, you really should try to work out which one of us on the team you’d rather have sex with,” Heather said, with just the barest hint of a smile on her face. She clapped me on the shoulder and began sauntering back towards the cafeteria.                                                      

 

I groaned and put my head in my hands.


	16. Interlude 3

The fingerboard of her cello was worn.

 

The strings were brand new, expensive, recently replaced, but the black wood behind it was scarred, rugged, covered in tape residue and years of wear and tear.  

 

Angela had had this cello for the past four years. A birthday present from her dad, received in the eighth grade. Her mother nagged her constantly to get a new one, a better one, one handcrafted and of higher quality. God knows she could definitely afford one. 

 

Angela wouldn’t replace it for the world.

 

She idly danced her fingers along the strings now, hand clawed and practiced, shifting from position to position on the instrument, fingers gliding and scratching out chords she had played a hundred thousand times. This was her routine, how she calmed her nerves before any recital; tuning, checking her bow for rosin, and fiddling away on the instrument itself.

 

Ha. She’s faced down dozens of the city’s supervillains, been in crossfires between bands of gangbangers with guns and bats, but her senior recital made her nervous. It sounded like a bad joke.

 

Angela pressed down on one of the strings, thrumming her hand back and forth in vibrato while her other hand sawed back and forth sans her bow to make sure she stayed silent behind the curtain. People were filing in; she could hear it, the clacking of heels and the thumping of shoes, the quiet shuffle of dresses and suits. There were also a few capes in the crowd, those were much more obvious to her.

 

A handful and change of strings, each of them clear as day dancing across her mind’s eye, each humming a distinct tone and tune. Angela felt herself instinctively reaching out to pluck at them, to change them, or smother them and make sure they become silent and unusable. It was rude, and she shouldn’t do it, but it was often hard not to. Most of her Wards were here, sans Hunch and Weld; their presence would raise too many questions, so Angela resolved to play a private concert for them later. Even Heather was in the crowd, having fulfilled her mission of dragging Eveline here.

 

The black curtain split down the middle as the lights dimmed, quieting the audience. A few stragglers hurriedly sat down in the back. Angela cast her gaze over the lot. Most of them were here because of her mother’s ‘connections’; clusters of the rich and influential, people she'd seen come and go, but never formally met. She caught the eye of her mother in the crowd, her greying black hair drawn into a bun, face stern and judging, mouth tight and thin-lipped. Qianling Qiu sat near the center of the audience, and was swathed in an expensive, flowery, midnight dress, accented with an ornate orchid hairpin on her head. She met Angela’s eye and gave her a small nod. Angela frowned and moved on, looking for the only person she cared about showing up today.  

 

She spotted him near the back, his suit patchwork and lines on his face pronounced, his silver hair balding, and one of his calloused hands raised in greeting as he vyed for her eye. His blue eyes were a mirror to Angela’s own, shining with fire and pride. Angela smiled at him and gave him a wink. That was the best she could do from stage, she’d have to wait to talk to him later. 

 

Satisfied with her inspection of the crowd, Angela turned back to stare at the audience, making sure to project her voice.

 

“Hello, everyone, and thank you all for coming. My name is Angela Qiu, and tonight I will be performing Squire’s Opus 23, Tarantella, as well as Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G.”   
  


Immediately, there were titters in the crowd, all emanating from the more musically inclined of the crowd.  Angela didn’t give a damn. This was her final recital, she could get by with playing a piece that wasn’t technically challenging, no matter how hard her instructor tried to guilt her into it. Just a piece that she enjoyed, and was  _ fun _ , something to eschew the expectations of the Dvoraks and the Schumanns and the Haydns, that was what mattered tonight. She placed a hand on the neck of her instrument and readied her bow, and was about to cue her accompaniment and begin the recital when another set of powers blossomed into her awareness, causing her to pause and sneak another peek at the audience, much to the pianist’s chagrin.

 

It took her a few seconds to find him. A stocky gentleman in a pristine, steel gray suit that sat near the back with a blonde woman at his side, wrapped around his arm. His power was a mess, strings mismatched and criss-crossed in a dizzying pattern, all of them unyielding and straining against each other like a mesh weave, pulling this way and that in an ugly and guttural sound.

 

Once upon a time, Angela had tried to play the upright bass, a year after she swore she’d never touch another set of piano keys again. However, the instrument proved to be too unwieldy and way too boring for her, so she dropped it. She did remember the feel of those strings, however.  Thick, tough, and would reverberate deeply when plucked or bowed. That’s what this mystery cape’s power felt like to her. A gnashing web of bass strings, all of them rumbling in contemptuous thought.  

 

Her breath hitched and her rock stop squeaked as Angela flinched, a series of connections sparking through her mind. Thoughtful rumbling. Thoughtful. Thinker. Neurotic, if that mess of sound that was his power was anything to go by. Short. Nice suit. There was  _ definitely _ a cape in Boston that fit that description.  

 

_ Shit _ .

 

Should she tell someone? Stop the recital? Alert the PRT? Almost the entire Wards team was here, but how long would they need to costume up? Did he have contingencies in place in the event of an attack?  _ Was _ this another one of his multitudes of plans? Could she get Dad and her mother out in time? Would they—

 

Angela took a deep breath to center herself.  In for ten, release for seven. Just like the sessions with Yamada. She shouldn’t be distracted like this, this didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t in costume, and not on the clock, so long as this guy who most definitely wasn't Accord didn’t cause trouble then she wouldn’t make any. In any case, who on earth would attack a  _ student recital _ ?  The mere thought was ridiculous. Angela shook her head to clear it and cued the pianist sitting behind her with a nod and a breath.

 

Squire’s Tarantella was a fast moving piece, lots of different and individual notes played over long arcs of the bow at a time, it was flowing and frantic, and just the way Angela liked it.  As her fingers danced along the instrument Angela felt herself sink into the music, the notes and movements overtaking her, and she let go, letting muscle memory take over the performance as she let her mind wander. She wasn’t needed here. 

 

The discordant, pulsating power of the grey-suited man was still there, however, and it was pressing against her mind. The performance seemed to stir the cape, she felt the strings of his power begin to relax as the piece went on, the interlocked mesh giving way and unfurling themselves slightly. Angela gave them a small nudge, hearing them twitch and flex as she began to pull and tug at them in an effort to unwind the parts. She couldn’t help it; it was fun, fiddling around with someone’s powers, especially a new one like this. Like trying to untie a particularly difficult knot, or try to fiddle a Rubix cube into completion, a challenge wrapped in mild frustration, yet yielded great bouts of satisfaction when it slotted into place.

 

Over the course of the next twenty minutes Angela performed two concerts in tandem, plucking away at the cape’s power while simultaneously sawing away at her instrument. Notes poured from her instrument as she concurrently teased out similar ones only she could hear from the mystery cape. Slowly but surely, the growling and malcontent that radiated from the suited man grew less and less intense as Angela worked out which parts of the power sounded best and reacted well to her meddling. A gentle tug here, a forceful pluck there. It was an interesting exercise, and from the way that the man’s face relaxed more and more as the piece went on, it seemed that he appreciated it as well.

 

Soon enough, the recital was over. Bach’s last notes flitted through the hall, and Angela drew her bow off the instrument. There was a pregnant pause, and then the hall erupted into applause.  A shrill whistle sounded from where the Wards were sitting. Angela stood up, rested her instrument on its side, and gave a small curtsy. Then she hurriedly went backstage and packed everything up and left the hall.  

 

The Wards were waiting for her in the hallway, chatting quietly amongst themselves. They cheered and piled in for a group hug when Angela walked out. Angela made sure to put her cello aside before they jumped her so nobody would accidentally break her instrument.

 

“Thanks guys,” she said with a large smile from inside the group hug.

 

“That was great!” Caroline cried, “Now I’m so sad I missed all your recitals the previous years!”

 

“Don’t worry, my mother can sell you aaaaalllll the DvDs,” Angela said wryly. She disentangled herself from the mess of limbs and bodies and smiled brightly at her Wards—that swell of pride in her chest never went away, no matter how many times she said it—before pausing and looking around, making sure the coast was clear. “So, um, don’t tell anyone this, and please don’t panic, but I think Accord was in the hall for my recital.”

 

Angela winced as loud exclamations of surprise and confusion filled the empty hallway. A nearby door opened and an usher leaned out, placing a finger on her lips. The Wards quieted, but the conversation moved to heated whispers and hisses.

 

“This is serious. We need to let the PRT know. Angela, did you see his face?” Heather asked, crossing her arms.

 

“Oh, I saw him, small guy, grey suit, had a cane, messed around with his power too, but no, we are  _ not _ calling the PRT, nor are we telling anyone. I’m going to go home and  _ forget _ that I saw his face. I’m just telling you guys because you deserved to know. Don’t make more work where there isn’t any,”  Angela answered.

 

“But Angie!” Matt whispered. “He’s a villain!”

 

“And I’m not risking a hundred people to arrest one guy who’s guilty of—what? Making Charlestown  _ better _ than the shithole it was? For the grievous crime of coming to see a recital? There aren’t any laws prohibiting him from that, I don’t think. I am going to forget I saw him, go get dinner with my dad, go to sleep, and go to school tomorrow.” Angela put her head into her hands. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have said anything to you guys, this was a mistake.”

 

“He’s a murderer. We need to call it in. Let the Protectorate know,” Heather said simply, turning at pulling her phone out of her pocket. Angela reacted on instinct, reaching out and  _ yanking _ at Heather’s strings. The Blaster dropped her phone with a pained grunt. She glared at Angela. 

 

“Do not fucking do that, Angela,” she growled.

 

“Then don’t try to call the goddamn Protectorate over nothing,” Angela shot back. “Oh god why did I tell you guys about this. Listen, my mom and dad are still in the audience right now, so we are not risking a fight with a gang leader, who is a high level Thinker, who probably has backup all around the building, and is  _ unmasked _ . We are  _ not _ attacking a _ civilian _ , and he’s not doing anything so just  _ stand down _ . That’s an order.” Angela hissed. Heather opened her mouth to retort, but Eveline’s arm shot out and stopped her.

 

“She’s...she’s right, Heather. We shouldn’t risk this, not with this many civilians, too much can go wrong, too easily, it’s not worth it. The most Angela should do is give the Director his appearance,” the brunette soothed. Heather growled something under her breath, but simply bent to pick her phone back up. Angela slumped in relief, crisis averted.

 

The door to the concert hall opened again, drawing the Wards’ attention. This time, Angela rushed forward to meet him, practically jumping into his arms with a laugh and a squeal.

 

“Hey, little angel, that was beautiful.” His voice had not aged a single day, still that deep melodic timbre that Angela remembered from her childhood, despite his disheveled appearance. Angela hugged him tighter and buried her face in his suit, breathing him in.

 

“Thanks, Dad, glad you made it.”  She released him from the hug and wiped a tear from her eye, taking in his smiling face. “I missed you.”

 

“Me too, Angie, me too.” Her dad replied, messing her hair with a hand. Angela accepted it with a grin.

 

“Ahem.” A voice sounded from behind her dad. Angela craned her neck to look around him and felt her heart stop.

 

The man in the grey suit was standing there, the one that Angela was pretty sure was actually Accord’s secret identity, perfectly poised with both hands on a short, black cane. His features were stern, sharp angles everywhere, and his mouth was twisted in a slight grimace. Angela was acutely aware of all the other Wards behind her stiffen, all of their powers sounding out with the familiar hum of trepidation and anticipation of battle as they saw and felt her own hesitation.

 

_ This could end badly. _

 

“...Hi?”  Angela asked, praying to whatever higher power there may be that he wasn’t here to start anything. Right now, all she wanted to do was hug her Dad, get some food with him, and spite her mother by leaving and missing the afterparty.  

 

“Answering with a question-” The man visibly stopped himself, clutching the top of his cane a little tighter. Angela noticed his knuckles whitening.

 

“I wanted to congratulate you on your musical ability,” he tried again. “I was...relaxed by your performance. I wanted to thank you.”

 

“Oh, um. You’re welcome?” Angela hoped really hard that this wasn’t an attack. Accord didn’t seem like the type to go after the Wards, but according to the PRT dossier, he was at least a  _ little _ crazy, so really, who knew.

 

Angela felt out his power again. It was definitely less knotted than before, the strings had began to cross each other again, but it was slower, and the restrictive hold they had on him had loosened considerably. Even the tune of his power had changed, going from the low, guttural, discordant roar of before to a deep rumbling bass line. Okay, at least it didn’t sound like he was about to start anything, based on his power.

 

The man gave her a stiff nod, clenching his jaw, and walked back into the concert hall where the sound of a piano gently leaked. Angela slumped in relief one more time in far too few hours for her liking. Her dad was giving her a questioning look.

 

“What was that about?” He asked.

 

“I have no idea.” Angela muttered. It wasn’t a complete lie.

 

“Oh my god, Angie just stared down Ac—” Matt didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Eveline elbowed him in the side. Angela snorted and turned her Dad to face them. He looked very confused now.

 

“So, dad, these are my friends.” Angela began.

\--

Heather dropped her off.    
  


All in all, it was a fun night; she’d managed to rope the rest of the Wards to come to a nice dinner with her and her dad in the city at a slightly more upscale American bar and grille. Dad had tried to pay for all of them, but Angela was quicker on the draw in handing the waiter her credit card. 

 

“It’s fine, Dad. I have a job. It pays well, too. And Ma covers my credit card bill anyway,” Angela insisted when her father spluttered in embarrassment, as though she was insinuating he  _ couldn’t _ pay. A vestige of his Italian pride.

 

“You are my daughter, Angela, and more importantly we are celebrating you tonight. I should be paying,” he insisted, putting a hundred dollar bill on the table as tip and adamantly refused Angela’s command to take it back. 

 

“I’ll put a hundred dollars on this receipt as tip if you don’t put that back in your wallet, right now, old man,” she threatened, pen hovering over the slip of paper. 

 

“Then I guess our waiter will get a large tip from us tonight,” her dad huffed. Angela relented and simply signed her name while the rest of her team looked on awkwardly. There was a moment of silence that was interrupted by Matt slurping on his water noisily. This time Caleb nudged him in his ribs.

 

“Do any of your friends need a ride? I can drop them off,” her father offered as they left the restaurant.

 

“Oh, no, it’s fine, most of us are headed back to the heaaaaaaaaad…” Eveline trailed off and looked to Angela for guidance at her slip. She felt the poor girl’s panic evolve into a trilling swell of her power. Angela forced it down with her own.

 

“They’re headed back to a school thing. Head of extracurriculars meeting,” she lied smoothly instead. “You don’t need to worry about us. Get going, you have work tomorrow.” 

 

Angela’s father’s looked disappointed, but also a little relieved. “Okay then. You’ll be able to get home safe?” he asked. 

 

“Yup, school thing’s not far from here, and Heather can drop me off at home,” Angela declared, gesturing at the taller girl next to her. She ran forward and gave her dad one final tight hug. “I’ll miss you, okay? Visit more.” 

 

“I’ll try, angel, I’ll try,” he murmured, reciprocating the embrace. Heather and Angela walked him back to his car. 

 

“Thanks,” Angela said, sliding off the back of Heather’s motorcycle. Angela moved to unlock the large metal gate while the other girl shut the engine off and kicked out the kickstand. “You wanna come in? Get a glass of water or something.”

 

“We need to talk about Accord,” Heather ignored her, removing her helmet. 

 

Angela’s groan matched the metal gate sliding open. “No, we don’t,” she said.

 

“Angela, this is serious. You saw his face. That’s intel the PRT could use. Intel they should use,” Heather said. 

 

“It’s intel that isn’t important. What would I put on the report? Local asshole shows up to student recital? Does absolutely nothing assholish? It’s not exactly actionable,” Angela snapped. She waved Heather through the open gate and slipped in after her. 

 

“You saw his face, we could use that to track his civilian identity,” Heather continued as they began the short trudge through the hilly garden that was the front of the Qiu estate. 

 

“Oh yeah, that’s smart, let’s start another war in the city, except this time with the unstable, high level Thinker with unknown amounts of resources and a dozen and change capes on his payroll. While you’re at it, I also have a few other bridges going across the Charles you could blow up, to really add to the set dressing.” 

 

Angela winced as the last words tumbled out of her mouth. The two of them stopped moving and Angela looked away guiltily. “That was over the line,” she said. 

 

“Very,” Heather replied. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Angela said.

 

“I don’t think you are,” Heather said.

“No, really, I am,” Angela sighed. “That was hitting way below the belt. Shouldn’t have done it. I apologize.” Heather did not respond. The two of them kept moving towards the door. 

 

“It’s just,” Angela continued as a way to fill the silence, “it’s too risky. Not enough reward for way too much risk. I doubt the Director would even act on this, there’s a chance that if he does it turns into another Blowback.” 

 

The pair of them reached the door. Angela stared at the impressive oaken slab that protected her from the terrors within and elected not to ring the doorbell, instead deciding to sit down on the steps of the stone porch. Heather joined her soundlessly, looking down at the odd car driving past through a shroud of hedges and wood. 

 

“Once upon a time,” she began quietly. “The heroes would arrest the bad guy instead of letting him walk away, no matter if his mask was on or not.” 

 

Angela leaned back so she could watch the night sky. “Once upon a time,” she agreed.

 

“You played well tonight, by the way.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“Have you decided on college or conservatory yet?” 

 

“College, eleven times out of ten. You can’t pay me enough to send me to a conservatory, and neither can my mom.” 

 

“Mm. Too bad. You could’ve joined the BSO.” 

 

“I’d consider it if you hadn’t dropped the clarinet back in ninth grade. We could’ve gone together.” 

 

“I hated that thing.” 

 

Angela put her hands behind her head to act as her pillow. “No you didn’t. You just told yourself you did,” she said. Heather did not answer.

 

“You will get your clothes dirty if you continue to lie on the ground like a dog, Angela,” a dreadfully familiar voice said from behind Angela. The leader of the Boston Wards shivered and stood to face her most formidable foe. How had she managed to open that door without her hearing it?

 

“Hey, Ma. Thought you were asleep,” she said.

 

“Get up,” her mother commanded. Angela stood up.

 

“Where were you?” Qianling demanded. “You were gone. You were not backstage, you did not respond to my calls, nothing.” 

 

“I was out having dinner,” Angela mumbled. “With Dad.”

 

Qianling pursed her lips but turned her gaze away from her daughter. “Heather,” she greeted her companion with a nod. 

 

“Hello, Ms. Qiu,” Heather returned. 

 

“How are your parents?” the older lady continued. 

 

“They’re fine, thank you for asking,” Heather answered. 

 

“Yo, Heather, come in. You want something to drink?” Angela offered.

 

“I’m fine, I’ve got to get going anyway. I’ll see you at HQ tomorrow,” Heather said. She began her descent back towards the street while giving the Qius a farewell wave. As soon as the gate was closed, Qianling whirled to face her daughter. 

 

“I need to talk to you about what you did tonight,” she said sharply. 

 

“Are you sure this can’t wait until tomorrow? When I’m not in the house?” Angela asked. 

 

“No,  _ Meilian, _ ” her mother said, storming into the house. Oh. Her mother must be really pissed, to use her Chinese name. Angela sighed and shut the door, mentally preparing herself for the night-long lecture that was about to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> This is crossposted from Spacebattles.


End file.
